There is a story that my mother tells about a very traumatic experience she endured when her family was young. It also involves the act that most informs and defines my understanding of what is kindness. It is a short story. I had a little sister named Amy Louise who died when she was six months old. The death was attributed to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome or SIDS. A crib death. Not much was known about its cause. It was the mid-1950’s. At that time and place, probably because of fear and ignorance, there was a stigma attached to a mother who lost her child to SIDS, the thought being that it must have been due to some sort of negligence or abuse on the part of the mother. Of course, my mother was devastated. She was a medical professional, a pharmacist, and had access to the research that was available on the subject. Still, however unreasonable it was to feel guilt and shame in such circumstances, I am certain the burden must have been unbearable. Even now, I believe the psychology of our family was irrevocably changed with that event. I was two.
There was a family in our area my parents knew all the time they were growing up. They were working people. The father was a bricklayer and mother was a housewife. They had a young family, just like my dad and mom. There were four children. The two youngest were girls. They were my age and a little younger. The way my mom tells it, the mother showed up at our house one morning not to long after Amy’s death and asked Mom if she would be willing to watch the little girls for the day. That is all.