I'll admit it. I watch 19 Kids and Counting. I started watching it more as a "how-to" because I do not know how someone takes care of that many small children. I've realized, of course, that the older kids take care of the younger kids. What I needed was 6 Kids and Counting. That was when I actually would've gotten some pointers. But I've come to really like the show.
Tonight was the episode when their 20th child died. Technically, it was really just a miscarriage; did we need a full-fledged funeral? But, considering that the civilized world knew she was prego, they probably had to do things a bit differently than us normal folk. And as I watched said funeral, I started thinking about my younger brother.
I really don't know how far along mom was when he died; I think it was about five months, but I was six- what did I know. I don't know how far along she was when she found out he was dead- I think she thought he'd been dead a couple weeks by the time she found out. I don't know what labor was like, just that she was induced. I do remember asking her once how big he was, and she said he was tiny and fit in the palm of her hand. I never asked why she didn't name him. I wonder, if grandpa hadn't just died and had a cemetary plot, would he even have been buried? I never asked why she didn't take a single picture of her only son.
As I sat here and cried over this little girl half a continent away, from a family I've never even met, I realize how many questions I never bothered to ask about my own flesh and blood. So many things that I can't ask now; the only person who knew the answers is gone. And I wonder- what other questions am I not asking? I know there aren't many years left with several people; I fully expect to lose the remaining grandparents and parent within the next ten years. And I hope that I don't have nearly as many unasked questions when they're gone.
