The Passing of Aaron R. Roland by Cyma Shapiro

Aaron was my father-in-law.  Aaron died last month; last week, we held a Memorial Service for him.

I’m writing this blog post in memory of him.  I’m writing this to honor and acknowledge my husband’s grief; the loss for my four children; the pain in my heart. I’m also writing this because I want a few simple moments to reflect on Aaron R. Roland.

As a devout Baptist/Methodist, Bud and his wife, Sarah, welcomed me, a Jew, into their lives with open arms; much of the rest of the family did not. They also graciously accepted when their only son, my husband, later converted to Judaism. There was no discussion and no repercussions.

Aaron was a product of his environment – grew up in coal-mining country, struggled to get his high school degree, and left to serve in the war. He and his wife lived in company housing for most of their lives – just happy that they could provide a stable environment for their two children. And while Aaron was not at all a model father or husband, his overtures to us went far to show the man he truly was and gave inkling to the goodness, realness and pureness that my husband surely is. I waited a long time to find my husband – a gem of a man. The real deal. And, while not cut from the same cloth as the rest of his extended family, those important, admirable traits were very much part of his DNA.  And, that DNA came from his father.

When I became older, I started reading the obituary section of our local newspaper. Sometimes, I would even read the obituaries in the New York Times.  Nearly every time I’d read about someone’s life and legacy I’d think that I would have loved to have met them, or that their life was so fascinating that I hoped the people around them knew of their intricacies and life-achievements before they passed on.  It always felt sad to learn about them in death; many times I thought I would have loved to have spent time with them in life. I’d also think about how many people we pass by and dismiss simply as one or two-dimensional entities – innumerable fleeting images in our daily lives - only to realize that all of them are three-dimensional and most of them had great life stories to tell.  Many of us would often learn about them after their passing – through obituaries and memorials; often we’d wish we’d known these things when they were alive.

But, here is the simple message: all of these people had a purpose on this earth. All of them did many great things large and small. And, all of them had touched many lives along the way. And, then they were gone.

So, although “Bud/Pop-Pop” was a gunner in the Korean War, and a 25-year employee for the Philadelphia Electric Company, his life might have gone unnoticed were it not to for his three greatest acts: serving his country; his acceptance of my husband and I; and the legacy he left behind.

I have cried many times in the last few weeks.  He will be sorely missed.

GUEST BLOG POST: For Whom the "Horrormones" Toll - by Lena Carpelan

An inveterate and vocal non mother, I embarked upon unchartered waters, eating a healthy portion of crow as well as folic acid, the year I found my first gray hair.

I had been proud to be different. When other little girls played with dolls and said they wanted to grow up to be mommies, I took my father’s wood carving knife, cut a hole in the rubber forehead of my doll, and said I wanted to be a surgeon.

My medical career aspirations were rapidly shelved when it dawned on me that real people spurt blood. But though not doctor material, neither did I morph into a mommy wannabee.

Who needed demanding and ubiquitous offspring; little bundles of raw, untamed DNA with all the faults and demerits that their parents had worked hard to conquer in themselves?

During my roaring twenties, life was full. Carl, my husband, and I had satisfying careers. My house flowed in hues of peach and cream. I was self confident and indefatigable. Around me, contemporaries struggled with potty training and temper tantrums as I smiled, condescending and marveling at their ineptitude. How could these capable professionals find raising their rambunctious progeny such a challenge?

But when I turned thirty, biology tauntingly struck. Perhaps it was my punishment for having recently asked Bob and Anne, parents of three elementary-aged children, if Carl and I could have a party at their house. We wanted to invite several couples for supper whom we liked very much, but who had the unfortunate flaw of having produced several smelly children. “Your house is already destroyed,” I had pleaded, sure they would understand, “so you wouldn’t mind having children over, would you?”

Like uninvited guests, empty uterus and empty life syndrome burst into my life without knocking.

Horrormones delivered a maelstrom of longing. I found myself noticing pregnant women, wondering what they were thinking, feeling. My insouciant attitude was no more as a dumbstruck Carl and I discussed my sudden insanity.

Gradually, it dawned on us that life might be full, but it was full of us, and “us” was boring and selfish. Would we slowly grow old, lonely, looking more and more like the dog, incapable of speaking of nothing more interesting but that the deli had been out of Carl’s favorite pastrami this week?

In time, biology won--parenthood came--and with it the rich tapestry of delight, despair, humility, joy, exasperation, surprises, laughter, and love. Its experiences cannot be purchased or imagined—they are the property of parents alone. It is the most thrilling adventure, albeit a messy one, known to man.

Several years ago, Bob called us.

“Anne and I have a favor to ask,” he said slyly. “Now that the children have moved out, we’ve purchased new living room furniture, but we’d like to have a party for several families with young children. Could we have it at your house? After all, it’s already destroyed.”

I heard him roaring with laughter as he hung up.


Lena Carpelan is the author of The Adventures of the Blackberry Hill Kids (http://www.blackberryhillkids.com/), a humorous “insider look” at a Swedish-American family with three lively rapscallions who cheerfully romp through life as their valiant, rapidly aging parents try to keep order in the midst of chaos. Visit her lighthearted, sometimes poignant blog http://www.blog.blackberryhillkids.com/.