Mom

I owe a big-ass debt o' gratitude to my Gentle Reader o' Many Names who took some time... and I suspect that time was considerable... to grace me with this:

The ships name was U.S.S. General H.W. Butner. She arrived on 23 October 1953 and the Captain was D. Branneman Capt, USN. It says you were 8 1/2 and your sister was 2 1/2, mother was 29 and just about over the hill (smile).

This is on Ancestry.com and they had a free access to europe records (I was too cheap to buy the add-on).

Further to that comment, this:

That was in reference to my post "When I Was Eight, Part II" wherein I said I didn't remember the name o' the ship we embarked on those so many years ago.  A remarkable case of inner-net detective work, eh?  Looking at that manifest made me remember Mom... in oh so many ways... and on that subject, I want to remember Mom like this:

Dad, Me, and Mom, c. 1949

Mom, c.19444 or so

Ah, but there's this.  That particular piece o' nostalgia set me off on a tangent this evening, one that called back many, many memories of Mom.  Those memories included both the good and the bad, but mostly the bad.  I don't know what it is about human nature that makes us prioritize memories and why it is the memories of the bad often preclude the good.  I spent the better part of two hours this evening mentally composing a post about Mom but eventually cast every single thought aside, mainly because I don't want to write another post like this one.  Once is enough, particularly in this space.

I'd rather remember Mom as the beautiful woman with the deep, deep brown eyes... the woman who healed my wounds, both psychic and physical... with a kiss, a healing touch, and the promise that things would be better tomorrow, and they almost always were.  That's the way I want to remember her, and that's the way she should be remembered.

Thank you, Gentle Reader o' Many Names.  You fired off a great many long dormant synapses tonight, and for that I'm forever grateful.