Cousins, connections, and death

One of the advantages of having had great-grandmothers who lived long enough for me to know them is that I got to know their other great-grandchildren. In the case of both my parents, they had cousins with whom they had been close when they were younger, but had drifted away from as they became adults. However, because those grandparents were still living, it lent itself to occasions where we were all in attendance. When my great-grandma Elsie died in 1989, all her great-grandchildren made it to the funeral, and even then, at nine years old, I realized that this was probably going to be the last time that this would ever happen.

My dad only had three cousins on his mom’s side, but since that great-grandma (Mayme) lived across the street from her son and his family, my memories of visiting her always involved them as well. The oldest of the three, I don’t remember so well, and the youngest of the three was closer in age to me than my dad, who was his actual cousin, but eventually those two would leave as life took them other places, and it was the middle cousin of my dad’s who stayed, got married, got a job, had kids, etc.

Those kids were second cousins, yes, but that’s a pretty unwieldy title outside of genealogy, so, for the most part, those kids of the middle son were just cousins too. (What’s funny is that of all my first- and second- cousins, it’s actually one of the second cousins that I’m the closest to; the last time I saw any of my first cousins was in 2010.)

In any case, I was informed this afternoon that one of those second cousins – one of the “little kids” of my childhood took his own life a couple days ago. He was 35, the father of three boys of his own, the oldest of whom are four. I understand that he was in an awful lot of psychological pain after serving in Iraq, and especially after working on military bases, I’m very sympathetic to that. At the same time, he’s done something unbelievably evil to his kids; while they may not even remember him much as they grow older, no one can take his place in their lives, no one can fix what he’s broken here.

The boys’ mother, the “love of his life”, as the obituary reads, is now left dealing with her own sadness, her own devastation, while at the same time trying to keep up not just with the demands that three little boys of that age and trying to help them through this darkness. It’s not something that can ever go completely.

My mind is trying to wrap itself around the fact that he’s gone, as well as around the fact that he’d do this to these people so dear to him.

In any case, if you are so inclined, any prayer for Isaiah’s family or for his soul is much appreciated.

Isaiah Trovall obituary (St. Cloud Times)

A picture of the boys and their mom (probably from last fall) can be found at the GoFundMe site that friends set up: https://www.gofundme.com/f/lyla-matthewman

A cute news tidbit about the twins from when they were born – apparently they were the first set of twins born in the Twin Cities area (if not the whole state) in 2019. (Minnesota Twins, get it?) https://www.startribune.com/girl-born-at-maple-grove-hospital-makes-claim-for-first-baby-in-twin-cities-in-2019/503775802/?refresh=true

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