The Child Left Behind

On Saturday morning three people from Seton Hill University, Greensburg, PA, the bus driver and the head coach of the women's lacrosse team, Kristina Quigley, and her unborn son, were killed traveling to a weekend match. A tragedy indeed.  We know little about the bus driver.  However, Kristina Quigley was the beloved coach and mentor of her lacrosse team as well as colleague and friend to many Seton Hill University administrators, professors and staff. She was active in the community and embraced charitable causes because she cared about others.

More importantly, Kristina was a wife and mother.  She left behind a loving husband and a two and a half year old son.  Her husband is devastated and will be in mourning for a very long time.  He now must be father and mother to their young boy. Family and friends will support him in his hour of need and for many years to come.  They will be his rock and his soft place to fall.  They will counsel him and eventually encourage him to move on with his life. In time he will be able to live, laugh, and possibly love again.

But what of the child?  At two and a half, this boy has no concept of death.  Mommy went on a trip as she had done many times before and would be back on Sunday night.  He would be asleep when she crept into his room and kissed his cheek and smiled with pride at her sweet, sweet son. When he awoke, Mommy would be in the kitchen making breakfast, his favorite, pancakes smothered in maple syrup.  She would help him dress for daycare and another day would play out as always.

But she wouldn't be.  What now?  This little child would now see Daddy crying, uncontrollably at times, be overtaken by the family gathering where people talk in hushed tones or sob on each other's shoulders, and, above all, be overwhelmed by the fact that Mommy isn't home on this Monday morning.  She would never be home again although he doesn't realize that now.

I was three and a half when my Dad died in an industrial accident.  Everything this child has already experienced and everything he will experience throughout his life I have lived for the past 65 years.  I wish I could tell him that in a short time everything will return to normal.  It won't.  No matter how loving his Dad is, no matter how much family's and friends' involvement will be from this moment forward, he will always be the child left behind.

Because he is so young, he can't verbalize what he is feeling, the depth of which he can't possibly understand; he can only feel.  And from personal experience, I can tell you he is extremely afraid, totally confused, and even guilt-ridden by the loss of his beloved mother. Time and discussion with Dad, family, and even professionals will help him grasp this tragedy intellectually.  He won't fear death any more than all of us do; he'll understand that accidents do happen, and he will see that he had nothing to do with his mother's death.

But in his heart and soul he will always grieve for the mother who left him behind; he will always wonder what life would have been like had she been there for him; and he will always wish Mommy was there every step of the way.  He will always be the child left behind.  I know that for a fact.

Grammy, who needs her?

After reading another "Dear Annie" where a grandmother is upset over the fact that her one and only daughter will not allow her any quality time with her first-born grandson, I decided I needed to get tough with these entitled, ungrateful grown children who all of a sudden know more about raising "baby" than their mothers and fathers ever did.

To you ingrates I offer some sound advice.  Look, when we grammies were young mothers we didn't know squat about caring for infants.  It was our mothers who were there to answer any and all questions, provide alternatives for persistent problems, and yes, even physically come to our aid when we were desparate. We were rookies then; you are rookies now.  Don't be so stupid to think just because you've read every parent magazine, gone to countless parenting classes, and have exchanged thoughts with your equally clueless girlfriends, you are totally prepared to handle everything in the life of your little one.  You're not! And won't be until you are the grammy of a newborn.

If you are lucky enough to have a mom and dad(grandparents now) to turn to at this eventful time in your life, have the smarts to take full advantage of their expertise and experience.  They made mistakes, a lot of them when raising you, but they've learned from them.  They are willing and able to share these with you so as to minimize your uncertainty and anxiety throughout the rearing process.

"Pride cometh before a fall" and, believe me, you will fall many times being a mom.  Asking for advice and being grateful for the time to actually have grammy and papap interact with your child from birth is a blessing that not everybody gets.  Instead of being a "know-it-all" be thankful to the grandparents your child has and you can certainly learn from.

If you think this harsh, then I've accomplished my goal.  If you accept this advice, then you'll be able to pass it on to your children when you are "grammy!"

Grammy Gives Birth To #4!

After carrying this "baby" for 3 months, and after 8 hours of intense labor, "There's a Baby in Mommy's Belly!" entered the Kindle Store "world" last night at 9:00p.m.EST.  This is my fourth and, no matter what anyone else says,  it doesn't get any easier!  But looking at it now, all of my pain and suffering is completely forgotten and I am so proud.

However, I need to give my thanks to the "fathers" as well.  Yes, I did say fathers.  In this case, there are two.  Derek Bacon, a children's book illustrator among other things, infused life into our creation with his awesome illustrations!  I believe Derek is the world's greatest artist; after all I chose him to be the father for all four of my "babies" didn't I?

Father #2 is J Thorn. J formatted and delivered #4 as well as the other three.  Without his technical expertise, my "babies" would never see the light of day.  But J's contributions don't simply end there.
He takes every opportunity to inject his creative flair throughout the birthing process.  Without his influence, our offspring would be less than perfect.

And finally, the midwife.  Although she prefers to remain anonymous, her meticulous proofreading and editing assure me that any defects it might be afflicted with magically disappear before #4 enters the real world.  I can't imagine going through this gruelling process without her by my side.

Now, for the unveiling! 

There's a Baby in Mommy's Belly! (Grammy's Gang Book 4) by Flo Barnett and Derek Bacon (Feb 22, 2013)

Isn't my "baby" adorable?   

GRAMMY BARES ALL!

Catch my interview with Jeff Rivera, http://jeffrivera.com/interview-with-author-flo-barnett/
to get a glimpse of Grammy exposed!

Four year old Becomes Mom!

Boy, if a 4 year old became a mom today it would be an over-night news sensation!  Every reporter across the globe would be in hot pursuit to get the first interview and every film maker a signed contract for movie rights.  But after my dad's tragic death, I indeed became a mom to my six year old brother minus labor pains of course. 

Our mother was given $1000. and a job in maintenance as compensation for her loss.  In 1948 that was considered very generous to a grieving widow and her young family.  She would walk out the door for work at 5:30a.m. leaving her two children to fend for themselves until her 4:00p.m.return. Even though we lived in my baba and zedo's house, waking up, dressing, getting breakfast and going to school were our responsibilities.  Rather they were my duties since my brother was totally dependent on me for everything.  I made sure he was up and stayed up.  I buttoned his shirt and tied his shoes.  I got breakfast for both of us.  And got him out the door so he would make it to school on time.

When I entered first grade, the job of mother doubled.  Now, not only did I handle my brother's every need, but had to make sure I was ready for the school day as well.  He and I left the house at 7:00a.m. and walked the half mile to school everyday rain or shine.  Of course we goofed around so a normally 15 minute jaunt would take an additional half hour.  Upon reaching St. Michael's we'd go to morning Mass as any good little Catholic kids were expected to do. 

School started at 9:00a.m. From that moment until 3:00p.m. when the dismissal bell rang, I was just a first grader learning to read "Dick and Jane" and master the art of the Palmer's Writing method.  I recessed with my peers and momentarily left all my cares behind.

But at 3:01p.m. I, like Wonder Woman, was transformed once again into the mom of, by this time, an eight year old clueless boy.  He looked to me for every need to be met, and I was there for him.

If a reporter had interviewed me then, I'm sure my overall response would have been, "Hey, he's not heavy, he's my brother!"

Grammy Bares A Little More!

A few weeks ago, Jeff Rivera, a bestselling author, asked me for an interview about my "Grammy's Gang" series.  http://jeffrivera.com/interview-with-author-flo-barnett/

Of course I said yes and was very honored for the opportunity.  But I started to wonder why it took 68 years for someone to think that I was interview-worthy.   It caused me to think about my life and whether or not any of it mattered.

I was born at the tail-end of World War II, September 9, 1944 just eleven months before the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan by the U.S.  I made my way into this world in the usual manner traveling traumatically down the birth canal and then being yanked out of my mother by a strange man I had never met.  Since I was born at home, my baba handled the afterbirth duties.  She whisked me off to the kitchen, filled a bowl with warm water, and scrubbed allthat placenta gunk off me. When hearing what she thought was respiratory congestion, she smeared Vicks vaporub under my nose causing me to turn blue and to stop breathing.  Her quick action of slapping me on the back and ass assuredly saved my life.  I think interviewing me at this time would have definitely been in order!

Three and a half years later, one of the most tragic events in my short life happened.  My dad, then a young man of 38 years, was killed in a work-related accident.  He was employed by USSteel as a property supervisor.  While inspecting a 30ft.improperly installed blast furnace door, the hinges gave way and the entire structure crashed to the ground.  Unfortunately my dad couldn't run fast enough and was completed pulverized from the waist down.  He died two days later. In those days the dead were oftentimes laid out at home.  For three days my dad was viewed by hundreds of family members, fellow workers, friends, and a few noseys just wanting to catch a glimpse of a smashed millworker.The wailing and breast-pounding was much more frightening to me than my dad's body lying in the coffin.  Yet nobody tried to explain what had happened and what would happen now let alone ask how I was feeling, or offer some kind of comfort.  Certainly I would have welcomed an interview then from some caring soul if even to just have somebody to talk to.

Well, enough for now.  This Grammy can only bare her soul a little at one time.  But hey, please take the time to read Jeff Rivera's interview concerning my "Grammy's Gang" series.  You'll get an idea of why and how I started a new career at the ripe young age of 68!

Grandparents Not As Important Today

My eye caught a "Dear Annie" letter last week that absolutely floored me!  Grandma was lamenting the fact that one of her college-aged grandchildren was ignoring all of her efforts to keep communications opened between them. Letters, emails, phone calls and a number of carefullly selected gifts, although received, were never acknowledged in any way.  When grandma brought this ignorant behavior to the attention of her daughter, the ingrate's mother, grandma was told that "grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past."  REALLY?

When a grandchild is born, who is it that comes to the aid of the young parents?  Who drops whatever she's doing and spends countless hours changing diapers, preparing formula and bottles, attending to the mother's needs, and most of all walking the floors at all hours of the day and night trying to soothe a colicky baby? Who buys the most beautiful crib where the first-born's sweet dreams take flight? 

And as each grandchild grows, who's there either in body or spirit beaming with pride as each grandchild accomplishes their greatest as well as smallest of goals?

Who is it that will pick up an ailing child from daycare because both parents are working just so they can have all the material junk their peers already have? After all, keeping up with the "Joneses" is more important than spending quality time each day with the children God so graciously blessed them with.

And speaking of dreams, who defers their own retirement plans to embrace the infant that was unfortunate enough to be brought into this world by a irresponsible, selfish crackhead and her equally immature, derelict of a partner? Who spends their Social Security check on shoes and clothes for the grandchildren instead of medicine and other necessities for themselves?

Grandparents are not as important today as they were in the past?  REALLY?