Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Mrs. Sidney N.

Tim took a weekend off, for the most part. Just hung out with me. We did stuff. It was very nice. We went out for supper on Friday. We went 'antiquing'. We watched 'As Time Goes By' Saturday night cozied up on the couch. Sunday, we did some kicking around. Tim was listening to the Steelers game on the radio (we no longer get TV since the switchover to digital, and we just don't watch TV enough to justify paying for satellite). His beloved Steelers won, and to celebrate, he stopped for ice cream cones. As I started to get in the car, he said, "Let's go through the cemetary," and so we did. One tombstone belonged to Sidney N. who died in 1839. He was 32 years of age, and was crushed by a load of stone according to his unusually informative tombstone. There was a nearly illegible poem about the grief of those he left behind. Right next to that tombstone was a tiny one. It belonged to a little boy named Sidney N. who died at the age of 3 years x months and some odd days, every precious day calculated in the custom of the time. He died in 1843. I think about Mrs. Sidney N. widowed, grieving. Doing a rough calculation between the time of her husband's death and the birth of her boy, I realize that she may not have even realized she was pregnant while she wept at her husband's funeral. To find out that she was pregnant...how stunned she must have been! And when a little boy was born, he was named for his deceased father. To lose him while he was still a baby~ poor Mrs. Sidney! Even after 170 years, that story made me teary eyed. There was no tombstone for Mrs. Sidney, and I assume that the young widow remarried, or perhaps simply couldn't bear to remain in what was, at that time wilderness, and returned to her family back east somewhere.

9 comments:

Mrs. Spit said...

I always like to think of women like that finding another husband.

I did some coursework in women's history on the Canadian prairies, and there were a lot of stories like that, and their courage still inspires me.

Bush Babe said...

Man... another cemetary-lover!! The stories there... I think every one should be urged tell more on their tombstones. So strangers can come by and relive a little of their lives. I love that thought...
:-)
BB

Debby said...

This bunch here? We should have our url on our tombstone. That would take care of that!

RedWifey said...

Did you previously use over an the air antenna? If so, all you'd have to do is buy the digital converter and plug it into your antenna (Michael, chime in here if I didn't say something right). It's kinda the oxymoron of our house: we have a big beautiful tv and watch over the air tv.

Redlefty said...

RedWifey got it right technically, but we're fortunate to live just two miles from the signal towers. So we pick up the free signals very easily.

I'm guessing Debby's former wilderness-land is a little farther from the signal sources.

I love the cemetary tale, by the way! We all have a story.

Carmen said...

Thanks for stopping by my blog and saying hello. I too love graveyards. My favorite so far has to be the one in Boston where Mother Goose is buried. It's amazing the stories you can find when you take the time to look.

steviewren said...

That is so sad. Life must have been hard in those days. We think we have it hard now...I can't even imagine.

PaintedPromise said...

wow. poor Mrs. Sidney N.

Bob said...

OK I'll use this forum to ask Michael to resume blogging, or at least put some photos of the new arrival there. Come on, we have not all migrated to Facebook! Miss you, man! (Thanks, Debby, for not charging for these messages . . . )