"Dat's Da Saddest Ding I Ever Saw"
I promised you more yesterday, and hope that I am able to deliver it in an appropriate manner today.
Sharon was driving home from her boyfriend's house in her Acura Integra. Right near the Half-Circle Barbeque, her life ended with a horrific smash. She attempted to get home that night so her mom wouldn't worry about her. There are so many ironies here.
Sharon was killed fifty years TO THE DAY that her grandfather was killed fighting in the Phillipines at the end of World War II. He gave his life so that Americans could be free...to have the freedom to do many things, including, you guessed it, the right to drive home in the early morning hours without fear.
Sharon drove an Acura Integra...so did I. The Integras are fabulous vehicles; they look good, and they drive even better. Unfortunately, they are not what I would call roomy cars. The driver fits in snugly but easily. I traded mine in when I had kids and needed more room.
She was planning a wedding. Her boyfriend asked her to get married in Las Vegas, but Sharon said no. Why? She wanted her dad to give her away. Her parents were so important to this only child, who gave them every consideration. While compiling our family history, I corresponded with her and found her a delightful person ready to give me the information I needed. Her personality came through in her handwriting: circular, almost bubbly, clear, careful.
My godfather, my dear Uncle George, was with me at the funeral. I remember the quiet of the funeral visiting hours and the enormous amount of people. Most of all, I remember our time at the gravesite.
Uncle George was not what you would call a "polished" man, but he was okay. Short, a little squat even, and loud, it didn't seem possible that he had a soft side, but he did. He worked with stone, a mason, and perhaps some of that hard substance infused into his skin. I sat in the car with him while our other relatives bunched around the grave.
We had a perfect view of everyone, especially Sharon's parents. After the services were over, nobody wanted to leave. Sharon's mom hugged her only child's casket and sobbed as Frank bent over to shield her. "My baby, my baby," she wept. I sobbed, thinking of my own brother. Uncle George, silent as his stones, had tears rolling down his cheeks. My strong godfather looked at me and said "Dat's da saddest ding I ever saw." Alone in the car on that August day, we cried.
Earlier, I had been amazed at my cousin's viewing. Sharon was a beautiful woman with blue eyes, blonde hair and a gorgeous smile. At the viewing, it was her hands that had me riveted. Her hands are my hands, the ones I see every day, the too-big peasant looking hands, indicating my farming ancestry. Our nails were shaped the same, the size almost identical, even the skin tone. You see, her father and my father are first cousins which can account for the physical similarities of our hands. Our loving Auntie Helen had those same hands, too.
God bless our family on both sides of Heaven.
Sharon was driving home from her boyfriend's house in her Acura Integra. Right near the Half-Circle Barbeque, her life ended with a horrific smash. She attempted to get home that night so her mom wouldn't worry about her. There are so many ironies here.
Sharon was killed fifty years TO THE DAY that her grandfather was killed fighting in the Phillipines at the end of World War II. He gave his life so that Americans could be free...to have the freedom to do many things, including, you guessed it, the right to drive home in the early morning hours without fear.
Sharon drove an Acura Integra...so did I. The Integras are fabulous vehicles; they look good, and they drive even better. Unfortunately, they are not what I would call roomy cars. The driver fits in snugly but easily. I traded mine in when I had kids and needed more room.
She was planning a wedding. Her boyfriend asked her to get married in Las Vegas, but Sharon said no. Why? She wanted her dad to give her away. Her parents were so important to this only child, who gave them every consideration. While compiling our family history, I corresponded with her and found her a delightful person ready to give me the information I needed. Her personality came through in her handwriting: circular, almost bubbly, clear, careful.
My godfather, my dear Uncle George, was with me at the funeral. I remember the quiet of the funeral visiting hours and the enormous amount of people. Most of all, I remember our time at the gravesite.
Uncle George was not what you would call a "polished" man, but he was okay. Short, a little squat even, and loud, it didn't seem possible that he had a soft side, but he did. He worked with stone, a mason, and perhaps some of that hard substance infused into his skin. I sat in the car with him while our other relatives bunched around the grave.
We had a perfect view of everyone, especially Sharon's parents. After the services were over, nobody wanted to leave. Sharon's mom hugged her only child's casket and sobbed as Frank bent over to shield her. "My baby, my baby," she wept. I sobbed, thinking of my own brother. Uncle George, silent as his stones, had tears rolling down his cheeks. My strong godfather looked at me and said "Dat's da saddest ding I ever saw." Alone in the car on that August day, we cried.
Earlier, I had been amazed at my cousin's viewing. Sharon was a beautiful woman with blue eyes, blonde hair and a gorgeous smile. At the viewing, it was her hands that had me riveted. Her hands are my hands, the ones I see every day, the too-big peasant looking hands, indicating my farming ancestry. Our nails were shaped the same, the size almost identical, even the skin tone. You see, her father and my father are first cousins which can account for the physical similarities of our hands. Our loving Auntie Helen had those same hands, too.
God bless our family on both sides of Heaven.
posted by Reading Reader | 1:48 PM
5 Comments:
I googled Sharon's name after I read the article and found your blog. I was a classmate and friend of Sharon. She was truly a special girl. She is still thought of and missed eleven years later.
Thank you for your kind words.
I'm reading everything I can find on the air so people will not forget.
Thanks, Tom! We do what we can do.
Marie knows how I feel about these things. Anyone who gets into a vehicle after drinking and kills someone should get the death penalty. They KNEW it was possible to kill someone when they took those drinks. It's like it was planned.
For the defense attorney to say he has a job and goes to AA is ridiculous. Big deal. He's still drinking and driving.
I know it's a sickness, but put him in jail for the rest of his life if you're not going to execute him. Make sure the SOB doesn't make anyone else have to say "Dat's Da Saddest Ding I Ever Saw". Bleeding hearts need not respond.
Joanie
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