Written
From the Porch of my 2nd cousin's, the Morrises, Home in Straights...
Right
over the bridge from Harkers Island, North Carolina.
June
2013
A sweet time of overwhelming love and joy.
In the church Relief Society room
I sat and felt at home,
a temple-like setting with many
who came before me that are still on this side of the veil.
They knew and loved my Grandpa.
The man that treated me like I
was his only grandchild although he had many,
Even in the middle of his
workday.
“Minta Jones, I love your bones!”
he said as he squatted down with his arms out for me to run into.
He looked so much like my dad,
only with black glasses, more gray and white hairs, a bit tougher skin and a
few more wrinkles.
He died here, on Harkers Island,
in ‘94, when I was 9 years old.
Since then he’s been the man I
love to hear stories about.
On the car ride home from Harkers
Island to Straights, Joella, my dad's cousin, kindly related some of her
memories of him.
She said that when he visited the
island his eyes would light up as he talked about his grandkids that were back
in Seattle.
Most everyone stayed on the
island, actually.
Grandpa was the daring exception
who transplanted himself creating roots and a legacy in the West. My dad
says it was the missionaries who baptized him Mormon that convinced him to go
to BYU and marry a Mormon girl.
Joella went on and said she could tell us grandkids were the apple of his eye and his pride and joy. To hear those words from someone I look up to and that remembers him well meant so much me. To hear her talk about him with a vivid memory and get a first-hand witness of his love for me- for us- was touching and I had to hide my emotions.
Then, she told me about that day.
That horrible day when Grandpa's
earthly life came to a sudden end, leaving many behind.
People all over the island could
hear the explosion, she said. Traffic stopped for the ambulance and the
name on the truck confirmed her fear. Someone else was driving Grandpa’s
car behind the ambulance. What had happened, they thought?
One tragic accident after another
here, it doesn’t seem fair.
Many years before this my grandpa's little
brother, who my dad was named after, died of Leukemia at age 8. Dad says
his Grandpa was never the same afterwards, so sad about losing his boy he
became even quieter.
Then, following my Grandpa's accident, Uncle
Mike died in a car accident. My dad says that his Uncle Mike was shy, an
artist, a fisherman, and so good with his hands he used them to make
boats. He loved his grandchildren so much that even though they were
little boys, when he opened his boat-making company he named it Hancock
& Grandson's. My dad's pretty sure those grandson's run it
now. My dad also says that when his Uncle Mike hugged and kissed him, it
felt like his own dad. I realized it's the same with my Uncle Mike for
me.
Then Grandma died in a car accident. My dad loved his Grandma and felt so much affection from her. "My Deeny, my leetle Deeny," he can remember her saying, and, "You are the prettiest little thing ever in this world." It's funny how that affection and praise carries on because I don't think a day passed growing up that my dad didn't say he loved me and that I was "as cute as a bug in a rug" which now I clearly understand is a compliment. :)
Shortly after Grandma Margarette's death, Grandpa
Charlie Hancock passed and everyone's almost positive he died of a broken
heart.
The day my Grandpa died I felt it
too, thousands of miles away.
I felt the explosion, the rush of
fear and confusion, the deep sadness.
Minta, my aunt, was crying at the
table and my dad yelled and collapsed in the other room.
I couldn’t stop crying for days.
That sadness stayed with me until
he came to me in a dream. With all of his grand-kids on his lap at once
he looked down at me and said, “Minta, I want you to know that I love you and
that I’m OK.” I could go to school now and not cry in class. The
dream was meant to comfort me and anyone else who believed.
Those faces were his.
Sister, June, Bill. They
carried his skin, his face shape, his nose, his hair color, his blood.
Why do some go so early?
Only for the ones that loved them
to get tired, wrinkled, grey-white and more sad about being left behind.
“It should have been me.” “Why
wasn’t it me that died?”
Oh, the comfort that is waiting
for those that are left behind, comfort from the Master and author of all that
is good and beautiful in their lives.
Oh, the sweet peace and rest that
they deserve.
What will he be like when we see
him again?
Will he be close to our Heavenly
father? Will he want to bring us to him?
Will he want us to kneel with him
before our Elder Brother who has made possible the sweet reunion?
The water is sweet, warm and
salty, the sand soft and heated.
The grass is thick and strong and
the trees rise high above the houses.
What did he love about this
island?
Is it the connectedness of all
his neighbors? Or, maybe, the family names on so many road signs. Part of it had to have been the boats
that symbolized plentiful food and breezy rides.
I bet it was the comforts of
long-lost memories from drawled voices heavy as boat anchors to his heart.
He loved me, and he loved this
island.
He left me pieces of him in all the people and places of Harkers Island.
But, he is in more than that.
I know that because he came to me
in my dream and made it the last night I wet my pillow with tears because I
missed him.
He loves me and I know he longs to be with me again.
He must long to be with all of us.
I’m so glad I know he’s already with many
people that he loves… like his mom and dad, his brothers and many more that
came before him.
Learning about him, his family and where he
came from gives me deeper reason to follow their examples.
A few ways I can do that is to love and cling
to family. To tell Sarah, and all
of my family, that I love them and why I do.
If I hug tightly and wrestle on the floor
with the little ones I’d be honoring their example.
Family was number one to them all. I hope to always have the same
priorities.
They worked hard and always provided for each
other. They weathered storms of
nature and of persecution like we can read about in Uncle Joel’s book.
I am because they were and I can be as great
as they were if I keep learning about who they were and why they lived like
they lived.
I’m so excited to see the faces of my family
at our reunion in a couple weeks and know the same blood that runs through them
runs through me and ran through our beloved Grandpa, his parents, siblings, and
their children.
Family is a wonderful thing and this visit to
Harkers Island only intensified my feelings towards the one I was sent to.
I ultimately thank my Father in Heaven, whose Spiritual DNA I believe carry, for putting me in the Hancock family and having such a beautiful plan with families at its center.
I ultimately thank my Father in Heaven, whose Spiritual DNA I believe carry, for putting me in the Hancock family and having such a beautiful plan with families at its center.
________________________________
A Little Background to the Essay
My almost 2 year-old, Sarah and I
arrived to at New Bern, North Carolina Saturday evening and the Morris’ greeted
us and drove us home to Straights. The next day we went to church and then
Joel and Susan’s for lunch and then to my Grandma Hancock’s home.
At church I was overwhelmed with
love and gratitude- the Spirit of our Father in Heaven- during the Sacrament
and Relief Society Meetings. I have to thank the nursery, specifically
Lauren Hancock (my second cousin-in-law) for watching my little one so I could
go to Relief Society. In every face I felt a connection to my Grandpa Hancock
whom I loved so strongly as a child. I wanted to talk to each of them,
hug them and hear about their lives and possibly memories that have of my
Grandpa. I did get to hug and speak with some of them and I’m so grateful
for the opportunity I had to feel so connected to my Hancock side. The
feelings I experienced in the Harkers Island Ward building were comparable to
what I experience in the temple- love, joy, faith, strength and hope. I
believe that is because I was touched by the Spirit of Elijah. My heart
was turned to my fathers (to my father’s father to be specific) and I think his
heart and that of his family in that ward were turned to me, his grand-child.
For those reading this that aren’t familiar with our faith or temples,
that Spirit of Elijah is the same Spirit that resides in our temples because of
the nature of the work we do there. We connect ourselves forever to our
ancestors and our descendants.
Here’s what I wrote the Monday
following that Special Sabbath I was blessed to enjoy mid June on Harkers
Island, North Carolina.
_________________________________
Another Important Note of Thanks
The Morris Family, James and Joella and their 4 wonderful kids, were so incredibly welcoming and treated us so much like family. Yes, I know, we are family. But, we're second cousins and we rarely see each other so some might say that's just an excuse for a free place to stay. Well, let me tell you I have vivid memories of meeting each of my second cousins when I was little and idolizing them ever since. They were good-looking, fun, family and lived in a cool place where my Grandpa once lived.
Now, more than 20 years later and with a
child of my own, it was so relieving to feel at home there and that is all
thanks to the Morris family.
Joel and Susan also welcomed us and fed us
whenever we could go by, and I sincerely appreciated that, also.
I can't tell you how much it meant for me to
feel welcomed and loved by you, thank you so much!
