Saturday July 30 2016  A WORLD I NEVER KNEW

Today’s topic picks up from where I left off yesterday.  My mom was the firstborn.  Fourteen months later baby number two came along, another girl.  Twenty one months later another baby girl was born.  And twenty months after that, you guessed it, another girl was born.  But a lot happened in the course of those months that changed the heart of my mother.

At the time of the event my mother was three months shy of turning five years old.  I will insert the brief biography of Ora which I wrote 6 years ago.

“Ora Helen”

“Ora Helen was born 14 months after Sybil and lived almost 3 ½ years.  When she died her father borrowed the neighbor’s camera and after Ora Helen was laid out in her casket he propped the casket up against the outside of the house and took a photo of her.  That was the only photo ever taken of her.  It was a sad day in that household.

Gracie Tackett, Ora Helen’s mother was pregnant with Vera Estelline and went into early labor due to the stress of Ora Helen’s death.  Vera Estelline was born two days after Ora Helen’s death.  It grieved my grandmother that she was not even able to be at her daughter’s burial.  It was only through God’s mercy that Vera Estelline survived her early birth without medical intervention.  Though we never had the chance to know Ora Helen she lived in her parent’s hearts.  She is buried beside the graves of her parents, William and Gracie Tackett, in the Bowden Cemetery on Crow Mountain.  Her marker is a crude grave stone inscribed with her name.”

Ora Helen’s short life always intrigued me as a child.  I would sit and just stare at the one and only picture taken in her short life as she lay in her casket, her little hands folded neatly across her chest.  Her face looked so sad and so still.  When my mother viewed the picture she always had such a deep, far away grief that seemed to linger somewhere in the recess of her mind.  It was only after I found the little journal my mother had written, and read one of its pages, that I understood it profoundly affected her.  I can’t put my hands on the book right now but I remember a response she wrote in answer to the question, “Can you think of something in your childhood that made you sad?”  Her response was brief, but powerful.  She wrote of the deep sadness and heartache that enveloped her at the loss of her little sister.  She said it lasted for months.   I think she forever carried both the sadness of losing Ora Helen, and the sadness of losing her newborn baby so many years later.

About nine months after Ora Helen’s death a professional photographer took the one and only professional portrait of the three surviving daughters. I can still see the lingering melancholy look in my mother’s young face when I view the portrait.  Three sisters sitting on a wicker bench, my mother on the left as you view the print.  This portrait was taken over 90 years ago in a world I never knew. 

As my generation grew up we discovered that there was a lot of secrecy and “hush-hush” about several topics regarding the family’s history.  Finally I was old enough to hear the truth.  It is believed that Ora Helen’s father, my grandfather, caused Ora Helen’s death.  It has been expressed to me that she may have been shaken to death in a fit of rage.  As the story was told to me, after Ora Helen’s death my grandfather was confronted by several men in the community with the possibility of charges being filed.  The other men in the surrounding farming community did not think highly of my grandfather and the way he treated his family.  When he was confronted by the men after Helen’s death he scared them off and charges were never pressed.  That was just how it was in that world I never knew.  And it may still be like that in some of the back hills of our country.  Actually, there is still a world I do not know.  I discovered that anew as we traveled the back hills of the Appalachians this past April.

I only knew my grandfather as an old man.  I have my first memory of him when He was 55 years old.  And believe me I thought that was ancient.  I had been warned to just stay out of his way.  So I did.  When I was young the epic stories of his meanness had not tainted my innocent ears.  It was only after I became an adult that I was told the haunting stories of their pain, both physical and emotional.  I soon realized that they had and still did suffer from the abuse inflicted upon them.  My grandmother had been warned not to interfere.  When I look back at what they endured and think how all nine sisters and three brothers had survived such cruelty, it was just amazing to see how resilient and strong each of them were, and still are. Was life easy for them?  Not in the least.  For some it was quite rocky.  But each one became absolutely amazing people of integrity and strength with each ending up with a strong relationship with God.

Yesterday as I was reminiscing the past, reading the binder book of all that I had written for the family reunion, reading the dates of those who had died, it was only then that I realized how quickly our older generation is dwindling.  I love each and every one of my mother’s siblings, as well as my abundance of first cousins.  After I had viewed several pages I became overwhelmed with tears.  I stopped myself, thinking how silly this was, but the name I read on the page that made me cry was an aunt who is still alive.  I immediately called her up, realizing what a treasure she is to me in so many ways.  I wasn’t crying when I called her, but soon the tears began to spill again, as they do now!  She gave me permission to cry, not knowing what it was about, but it still made me feel better. 

We had a good talk and she helped place my heart on a simpler path.  I haven’t even started to arrange the photos as of yet.  I first must have everything organized in my mind.  I do have all the families separated into concise family groupings and plan to work on each family as a self contained entity.  And I haven’t even thought about my own siblings and how I will portray their layouts. 

There were several gaps in the albums I brought home from my mom’s place where pictures had been removed.  I won’t have as many as I wish I did in order to compile the complete story.  But, I believe the collection I have in my possession will be a nice keepsake for my sister’s family. My greatest pleasure will be all the joy I will have as I visit all the faces, events and memories once again.  I think that is the best part.  Even when tears spring to my eyes, I am still happy for having had these people in my life.  When I handle pictures of persons I know and love, it seems I become more aware of who they were, and who they are.

I had the opportunity to create two heritage albums in 2000 for my mother’s ancestors and her siblings.  By the time I finished the books I felt as if I knew even those whom I had never met, some of them having lived decades before I was born.  The faces became alive in my heart.  I will forever treasure the 500 hours that it took me to design and lay out what future generations will be able to enjoy.  One of my aunts paid for the supplies, so for me, it was the most economical entertainment I had ever enjoyed.  Especially since I loved what I was doing. 

 

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO NEVER GREW UP

By Kathleen Martens

April 2, 2011

Ora Helen Tackett

 

A little girl was born one day,

Only a short time on earth to stay.

She didn’t have a very long “dash”,

And so she had to live life fast.

 

She was baby sister to Sybil Marie,

But only until the age of three.

And by then there was a younger one.

And with Hattie Bell she had some fun.

 

But then one day Ora Helen ceased to breathe,

And from life on earth she was freed.

A little girl who never grew up,

No opportunity with twelve siblings to sup.

 

A little cherub waits at heaven’s door,

Of her sisters and brothers, she’s now met four.

 

Below is my poem for today.

 

A WORLD I NEVER KNEW

By Kathleen Martens

July 30, 2016

 

 

A world I never knew

Probably still exists

In the hearts of some,

Who their own will insists.

 

When anger can’t be quenched,

It creates much sorrow,

Which is stored in those they hurt,

Forever, in their tomorrows.

 

We never ever really know

What goes on behind closed doors.

How words and pain can be inflicted

Leaving behind emotional sores.

 

One generation to the next

Iniquities are passed down,

Only with the intervention of God

Can peace and joy be found.

 

For the scripture tells us

We can break the chains of sin,

So generational behaviors,

Not passed down again.

 

So if your family is in bondage,

Iniquities from the past can be broken,

If you believe that the written word

Is what the Lord has spoken.

 

God, I thank You for Your promise to me that a generational bondage was broken in my family and that it would not be passed on to my son or his sons.

Thank You Lord for confirmation of Your promise to me in 1980.

Thank You for being with me wherever I go.

Lord, thank You for raisins.

And thank You Lord for ideas.

 

Have a wonderful day!

 

GOD BLESS YOU!

I have included the portrait of my mother and her two younger sisters.  It sits on a shelf in our bedroom and has some reflection showing in the glass.  Perhaps you can still decipher the faces of the little people in the story.  All three are now enjoying each other in heaven and I am sure that Ora Helen is included and enjoying getting to know her sisters.  She was perhaps the most fortunate of them all. 

P.S.  Just for the record, Ora Helen was always called by her middle name of Helen.