Chapter by Chapter: The Legacy of Charlotte Rose. Telling Stories About Someone You Have Lost Can Deeply Influence Someone Living Now..

It was yesterday I lamented my younger cousin's loss along with other mourners -of the beautiful soul who was his mother.  It was also the 2nd time in fourteen months our family had been in this very church for a funeral. My cousin and I shared his paternal and my maternal grandmother, who passed away in 2016, whose house of worship we were in again, eulogizing another beloved lifegiver who'd come to teach us, then obediently report back to heaven on all lessons learned.

I couldn't help but notice the splashes of peachy orange hues getting much deserved attention in the  attire of some children, in laws, and sisters in Christ of my beautiful Aunt Beulah.  Her wreaths sprayed the sanctuary with bold peachy orange roses and hints of white carnations creating a conspicuous demonstration of an apparent old favorite color of hers.  At some point in my life someone stopped letting me get to know my aunt intimately beyond primary school, after she and my uncle were no longer married; So I could have no idea that beyond her stylish elegance,  she was a huge Dallas Cowboy's fan. And you cannot  imagine my shock & delight that somebody elses mother made the world's best hotwater cornbread! They say she put chopped onion in hers.. yum! I'm committed to changing my recipe, now.

Aside from embracing my aunt's new earthly home, I was also a tourist at that cemetary her husband and sons chose to lay her. One of my own best friends from high school -was also there, somewhere.  I was pleased that my daughter wanted to come back after repast to find her.  And find her we did! Among the equisite rooms of silence where they bury babies, is where we had to search. My friend was 18 when Dallas police chasing a wrong-way driver ended with a head-on collision that mangled her camaro and instantly killed her and 2 of the 3 passengers riding in the car that night. 

Here it is 37 years later, and my 23 year is helping me find the grave of my friend she'd only heard about all of her life. Shoes on, then shoes off, taking baby steps over baby graves,  reading sometimes outloud birth dates and death dates of newborns and teens and tweens and young adults. We were getting close, though.  As I remembered a water spigot near the grave from twenty two years ago, when I brought my then toddler and a prospective beau -with flowers and a picnic blanket to chill and remember my departed friend. And there it was.. wrapped in yellow tape of some kind. Not dripping now, like when my baby caught the drips to sip, and my very protective friend commanded her "No! Don't put that in your mouth!"  - A good guy he was, for sure. 

Slowly slowly. Walking. Looking down... then, "There she is!" A volunteer who happened to be in babyland with us, said.  Relief. My daughter's knees began to bend as she tucked her black dress and sat, caressing and brushing sand and grass from the etched gravestone. Eyes closed.  Breathing with intention. A slight brush of air moved strands of her hair. I could see the peace she was in as she sought the presence of my long ago friend.  Absolutely honored when she told me - she was naming her future baby girl "Charlotte Rose."  My half empty cup was suddenly filling up.  Charlotte would love that, I know.

So dear reader, if you're here because you're thinking about writin a book. I know you must be a person who has lived and breathed a lifetime of love and pain and trails and pleasures.  But you didn't get where you are by yourself.  Someone along the way inspired you. I would have never imagined that my friend Charlotte Rose, and the stories I'd been telling my daughter of our teenage and young adult adventures, would have impacted her to the point where she'd want to name her own daughter after someone I cherish.  You have a story like this in your heart.  I know you do.  Make it a chapter in your memoir.  And while writing a whole book is daunting, I can help you break it down into short stories, based on memories you may not even remember you have.  If writing isn't your right medium for expression, don't worry, I can help you discern what is.

To CONTACT ME, click the Menu Bar (horizontal lines) in the upper left of the website for my Contact form to reach out about your writing project.

Many blessings.

| This original photo & commentary by Jackie D. Rockwell |All Rights Reserved © 2008-2017 |

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