History of War

There are many types of war. We fight in wars day after day and once we become a casualty....well, we tend to let that shape us. For better or for worse, that depends on the person. Yes, my grandfathers and great grandfathers were soldiers. My father served in the army for 6 years and his father served in the navy for quite some time. Still, there is any other type of war. The war my mom’s mother fought. Perhaps this war was of greater hardships than the war in Iraq, for my grandmother was not trained for this. She fought a war against herself, against the world, and against love. She didn't wear a uniform or defend her country. She defended the love she had for her children as well as her husband.

Catherine Badgely was a strong woman with five children. She was a smoker who developed several lung problems, C.O.P.D being one of the harshest. Every day she dressed herself in her own war paint; love. She was widowed to Howard whose life was claimed by lung cancer at the age of 36 due to smoking. I don’t know what Ma (Catherine) saw when she looked in the mirror but I am almost positive it was not the same thing I saw when I looked at her. She was a single mother struggling to feed not only her own children, but her children’s children. She wasn’t in the best health and the path she walked was not always paved for her. Many tears poured from her steel eyes though her pain was hardly visible to others. I knew a lot of these tears were caused by wounds she suffered because of self doubt and disappointment. She even went as far as legally changing her name, though she never would explain why.

Ma never stopped trying to do what was best for her children, even if it meant facing her fears. She took her daughter door to door one night looking for the man who violated her daughter. She had her rules for the kids as all parents should. She cared for a daughter, my mother, who had had her share of doctors visit before she reached her teens. Collapsed lungs, blown ear drums, many parents only have to deal with the flu a few times and couple broken bones. Ma knew she loved Howard and though she went out for fun she never remarried. Being a single mother with so much on her plate, I know it wasn’t easy to keep herself from falling in love again. Eventually Ma could no longer live on her own. She wanted to stay close to the family but one of her kids had a family over two thousand miles away. This was my family. Yet, as she always does, Ma had a plan.

My grandmother knew she was dying. She lived with each of her kids before she passed, my house being the last. Before she died she bought Christmas gifts for each of her kids. They were clocks with a bible scripture that, in one way or another, all pertained to her. She bought me a plaque of Our Lady who was my chosen saint in confirmation. Ma spoke no Spanish what so ever but the writing on the plaque was in Spanish. It read, “No tengas miedo porque siempre estás en mi cuidado.” She died a month before Christmas but even in her death her love lived. Her death brought her daughter (my mother) and her son back together after they endured their own battle for 10 years. Now my uncle and my mom talk every day.

Terrified of planes, Ma would never fly. She always took a train or came to New Mexico with someone who drove. After she passed away, we had to get her body back to New York so the whole family would be able to attend the wake and funeral. Her body was cremated and her ashes were buried in a rose colored urn on top of Howards grave. Catherine was now 80 and had finally been reunited with the love of her life, though I don’t believe he ever left her side.