Love...Passing Over

When you see me write about my cousin/nephews, these are the sons of my Dad's oldest brothers daughter, to whom my parents were legal guardians of until she was 18, always known to me as 'Sis'.  Though there will be genealogical information gathered by Sara Lee Ragland, that will indicate William Fletcher Ragland as her father.  There will be references to Bill Ragland, these are one and the same person.  I never knew my Uncle Bill, as my Granddad Ragland, both had passed before I was born.  My knowledge of them came from stories within the family and through pictures.

This side of the family originated from Wales, when three brothers came to America and one of them added the 'd' to the end of the name, the other two maintained the original spelling of the name, 'Raglan', of which there is still a castle bearing this name, in Wales.

http://www.castlewales.com/raglan.html

Though you will see the name on my Dad/Mom's headstone incorrectly giving his name as 'Clark Asher', which was my Granddad Raglands' name, my Dads name was only 'C.A.', period, all there was to it!  There are hopes of getting this corrected, as I promised Dad I would do when he saw it the day it was delivered and was highly distressed about the incorrect name being on it, as if my Granddad had passed away again.

The mix up, which I'm not sure who was given final approval before it was chiseled into the stone, I only know that it was not me, I believe came from Dads' social security card, which listed his first name as 'Clark', with a middle initial of 'A'.  This came from his being a civilian iron worker for the Navy during WWII, and they required a first name.  But someone had to have dropped the ball between point A and B on the headstone.  People who attended Dad's 'Going Home Gathering' mentioned the incorrect name to me, that is the final identity, the name under which visitors will inquire of location in the cemetery will not be found.  Thankfully it is a small cemetery and most in the area knew Dad.

The 'Sunset of Life' and the process of releasing persons to the next life are all processes for the living, not for those passed over.  The decisions that are made on their behalf by those who are left behind are some of the most emotionally taxing I think.  This is the last act of kindness and love you can show to that person, and it is imperative to you to do it all as they wanted.  Neither of my parents, in life, wanted to discuss these topics.  Though I believe they should be, because you are never really certain when that time is going to come, when you will be the one left to make the decisions.  Sometimes it comes very early in life, others are blessed with many years.

For my first nephew/cousin, Harrell Wayne, it came very early in life, at 18 months.  I was barely 4 years old at the time, and can remember the days before his arrival.  I remember first meeting him just before his first Christmas, at the apartment where his parent, Patsy, sister/cousin, and her husband, Harrell, lived.  He was a beautiful little guy, with his wide, toothless smile laughing up at me, he was ours, and I adored him from that day on.  The following May I would turn 3, and do not recall ever feeling jealous of the love and affection my parents had for him, just enjoyed hearing his laughter from my Dads' arms being tickled and played with.  He was my parents first Grandchild, and he was much loved.

Even now I have problems talking about his passing, events and feelings of that time were etched on my heart and embedded in my mind, for life.  I was there when he passed, present as Patsy drove the car as fast as possible toward town on Route 66 to the emergency room, watched as my Mom continued to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on him from the passenger seat, prayed from the back seat where I stood holding on to the front seat, worried over the cars that would not get out of the way and let us go faster.  The ambulance would have come, if the two old ladies on the party line of 8 would have let me have the phone and make the call like Mom sent me to the house to do, but because they would not, time had been lost with Mom having to go to make the call and stopping CPR to do so. 

This left Patsy with Harrell Wayne, to do CPR, with me sitting on my knees in the grass, watching her desperately breathing into him, screaming and crying between breathes, only to gather him into her arms and run, screaming out to God to please save her baby.  And I running along beside her trying to get him from her to continue CPR, knowing she was too distraught to do so and that having watched Mom, knew I could do!

Even now I grieve, am crying now as I recall this.  Because even as we pulled into the ER and rushed inside, and they went into the ER and the huge metal doors swung shut, I knew he was gone.  God told me in my heart.  Mrs. Ireland, the head nurse, came to take my hand and walk me down a long hallway to the left, where on our left was the nursery and we stood looking at the babies there.  I recall crystal clear thinking that it was all so very unfair, here were all these other babies to be loved, and our baby was gone.  And it was my fault!

Some would say not, then and now, but I was the one who left the front yard to go to my swing over in the big cottonwood tree, leaving him there to play with the little tractor and swingset.  Going inside to the sewing room where Mom and Patsy were and asking to be let out to go swing.  The heavy wooden back door had a latch way up high and it was locked, Patsy had to let me out. 

As soon as I was outdoors I ran toward the well house where the big cottonwood stood, and from it hung my rope swing that Dad had put up for me, on a very long rope, you could swing as high as the sky from it.  I sat in it and swung toward the east, away from the house, because the gate to the front yard sat to side of the house and from the yard you could see the swing, I
didn't want to make Harrell Wayne want out.  I had seen him standing at the gate looking toward me, I didn't want to meet his eyes and make him want out.

I don't know how long I was swinging when Patsy hollered from the house to ask if I had seen him over there.  To get there he would have had to cross the little irrigation ditch as I had, across the wooden bridge over it.  Being summer the ditches were full to overflowing, even the three big weirs out toward the highway, which was not far from the front of the house.  All of us went all over the farm calling to him, Patsy even went out to the highway, I can still see her in my mind standing in the drive calling out to him with her hands cupped to her mouth.

While Patsy was doing this, my Mom was in the little irrigation ditch walking with her hands down into the water, calling Harrell Wayne and praying, I still see this and remember thinking she was getting her watch wet, the pretty gold one with the little chain on the clasp, the one Dad had bought her.  She didn't notice.  After some time she went around the curve in the ditch beside the corrals, and at the first gated drop in the ditch she found Harrell Wayne, only by the air trapped inside his 'rubber pants' that covered his cloth diaper and were just barely showing above the waters surface.