Yesterday, I decided to make chicken noodle soup for dinner and I never make that soup without making my grandmother’s homemade noodles.
It makes all the difference.
Making noodles is a messy job, and while I was in the middle of it, the house phone rang. The house phone is a line we NEVER answer. I mean it, never. It seems to be a magnet for telemarketers so we know that anyone who needs to talk to us calls our cell phones. The house phone is basically there for emergencies.
While covered in flour, rolling out dough and stopping my 2 year old from sprinkling the house plants with powder, my husband decided he was going to answer that phone. I heard him talking and asking questions about who it was and then I hear:
“Oh cool.Yes! She’s right here.” and he handed the phone to me. I mouthed out the words “Who is it?” and my husband told me it was someone about the Laffey.
My grandfather survived and because of that, I’m able to sit here right now, drinking my coffee and share this story.
I put the phone to my ear and said “Hello?”
The man on the other end was a survivor of that day in April 16th, 1945. A friend of his, who had heard about the documentary, found out he was on the Laffey and ordered him a copy. He watched it and was so thankful, he had to call me in person.
It took him a year to get a hold of me. Yes, you read that right, a year. Because we never answer that phone.
With my flour covered apron on, noodles half rolled out and the kitchen table covered in flour and dough, I simply walked out of the room with the phone to my ear. I went to the office and sat down with pen and paper and wrote down everything I could from our conversation.
My husband did a a great job keeping the little ones away from me while I talked on the phone. As hungry as they all were, they waited patiently...or at least as patient as a 7, 5 and 2 year old can wait. I’m going to call this man James. It’s not his real name, but when I told him I wanted to write about this conversation, he politely asked me to not give him any notoriety and keep him out of it....so I will.
James is originally from Texas and was 16 when he quit High School to enlist in the Navy. Young, yes, but his mother signed the papers for him.
“Back in my day, we were all very patriotic. It was a different time. We were all ready to go.” he explained through a smile I could hear.
Take a good look at the 16 year old boys around you and imagine them enlisting to go to war. Mothers, would you be signing for your 16 year old to enlist? James is right...it’s a different time.
He said he took a train from Texas to San Diego, California for what little basic training they could give him before they sent him to war....and send him to war, they did. He had just turned 17, barely finished basic training and was sent to The Laffey.
James could tell me his location on the ship and he knows he didn't get hurt, but other than that, his memory doesn't go much farther. He said that he knew he turned it all off when he left The Laffey in Seattle, due to the things he saw.
He remembers that.
The USS Laffey at Patriot's Point today
He married several years after departing and never even told his wife he was in WWII. They had a daughter and it was only after James and his wife divorced and he shared some with his adult daughter, that his first wife ever found out anything about The Laffey.
I know this to be true about a lot of WWII vets...what they witnessed was terrible. My own grandfather, telling me the story 60 years later, brought him to tears. My own grandfather didn’t give his family the details because of what he saw. My own grandfather was also 17, fighting in a war where he saw his own friend “burned to a crisp,” beyond recognition.
My grandfather survived....as did James. By the grace of God, the complete miracle of protection with loving hands, the ship survived and generations went on. I’m one of them.
James stayed in the reserves after he got out. He finished High School and was two years into college before he was called back. He proudly served in the Korean War as well. After leaving the military, he spent 30 years working for the government and retired. He’s spent the last 23 years in the mountains and living alone. He said it’s been the happiest time of his life, being away from busy life.
I am so thankful my husband answered that phone. I thanked him repeatedly. Not only that, but when I hung up with James and came into the kitchen, the noodles were done! My husband and my son finished rolling them out and cut them all up by hand.
Dana Bell was a woman I met a couple of years ago, and her impact was huge on me. She performed in the stage show I produce, Expressing Motherhood and shared her story of single motherhood to three children. As if that weren't hard enough, she had also been living with Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. And for those of you who know me and my personal experience with breast cancer, you’d understand why I sat in the corner of the room sobbing as I watched her in rehearsal that January.
She survived the cancer for two years after that time. She passed away on January 27, 2013.
She was 42 years old. The same age my mother was the first time she was diagnosed.
Oh boy. My heart is a little heavy today.
What I can tell you is that her service yesterday was amazing in so very many ways. It was extremely full and I thought it may just end up being a standing room only kind of deal. Always a testament to what a single person means to so many.
I am heavily comforted to know that Dana had a faith in God and knew she was going to heaven to be reunited with loved ones, including her father.
Dana was a remarkable woman with a great sense of humor, She had long legs and loved high heels...as proven by her brave performance in the show wearing wig, prosthetic breast and shoes that would make Carrie Bradshaw sigh.
As expected, I had a very emotional time at this funeral. I feel for her children, her family and friends who all watched helplessly. I know that feeling.
Helplessness.
But, then...an amazing moment.
Dana’s sister, Lena, gave a eulogy that made me devour a handful of Kleenex with my eyes. Lena said that Dana had a favorite mug that she used every day and that the mug had the words:
“Be happy. Be a family. That’s it.” on it.
I looked at the friend sitting next to me and I lost it. The power of my mothers words on the mug I gave Dana two years ago probably helped her through some really tough times. My mother’s words meant something to another woman fighting breast cancer.
The same mug assisting me through my BSF this morning.
I didnt have words then for how I felt, and I honestly dont have words now.
At the end of her service a song was played for us to listen to.
Per Dana’s request.
This is the song below, it’s called The Family Tree by Venice. I had never heard it before, but all I will say is grab a tissue.
But before you do that...grab your loved ones. Tight.
