Great Aunt Allie’s Blindness

My Take

DiVoran Lites

I met Great Aunt Allie when I was twelve years old. My granddad and grandmother took me to Illinois to meet some of my kin. I enjoyed my second and third cousins and had a wonderful time, but I’ll never forget meeting Allie, my great grandmother’s sister. She was the first blind person I’d ever met. She was sitting down when they introduced us, and she asked if she could feel my face. I thought then, and have always thought, it would tell her about my appearance. Recently, though I’ve talked with Janet Eckles about it and she says, no, it doesn’t tell much. But now that I know more about Allie, I think she just wanted to touch her great-grand niece.

The Illinois families had always been farmers. They lived harsh lives, and I think they must have kept a thin layer of armor around their hearts so they wouldn’t be hurt beyond bearing. I don’t remember any hugging from any of my people.

That’s one reason the next story is so sad, though it goes back in time to when I was a newborn. Apparently, the meeting in Illinois wasn’t our first. Allie traveled to Colorado around the time I was born. My mother tells the story with much regret. Seems in those days the medical community decreed that if you held babies unnecessarily you spoiled them. Unnecessarily was any time when you weren’t feeding them or tending to their needs in some other way. My mother followed doctors’ orders and did not allow Allie to hold me. But Allie wasn’t easily discouraged. She stood by my Bathinette while Mother bathed me, and rocked it with her knee as she sang, “Rock-a-bye Baby.”

The last story isn’t about me, but it’s the best one. Allie and all my female relatives, in Illinois, were quilters. Allie managed to live alone, but I’m sure she received help from her family. Anyhow, she had her quilting frame set up in her living room and she’d piece together scraps of material into warm coverlets and give them away. It’s amazing that she could do that. She didn’t have anyone in the house to thread her needles so every morning she took several to a corner on the tiny Main Street and waited for someone to come by. Many times, it turned out to be the town judge. She had known him since he was a boy. She probably gave him lots of fresh fruit pies when was growing up. When the judge threaded the needles, he was showing his respect for Allie in the way it was most needed.

What is the point of these stories? Whatever you like. Maybe it will encourage you to tell some of your own family stories. Believe me; someone will appreciate them if you do. I’d like to read them myself. And they make terrific grist for a writer’s mill.

Tags: #Christian Blogger, #Christianity #Family, Blindness, Family Life