In memory of an incredible woman, who is finally dancing.
Written by Robyn Sue Young, Her great Niece.
She was born Clara Aleen Vance in the hills of the eastern United States, to the parents of nine children. Her mother contracted both measles and chicken pox during her pregnancy. Clara was born alive but malformed, missing organs, with spinal curvature and a twisted and useless leg. But she survived and grew to childhood. Her father made her a crutch and she learned how to walk. A doctor told her and her parents that with her body so badly formed, she would not live to see twelve years of age. But the fire that burned within Clara's soul would not be damped. And it never was.
She studied hard and dreamed. When she turned sixteen, Clara had her useless leg amputated. She fought through many obstacles, and overcame them. She completed her schooling and with twenty dollars in her shoe, left for the west. She came to California and worked hard and went college, becoming the first of her family to earn a university degree. She found a doctor who made her a prosthetic leg and began a career as a school teacher. She met and married Frank Berry, and together they made a life. Clara helped care for her sister's child and then took on the care of her niece's children when her niece could not care for them. Clara and Frank nurtured and these raised four children as their own. One of them was my mother.
Clara had retired from teaching by the time I was born. When I was almost three, Clara started keeping me with her. She taught me how to read, write, and all the lessons I could learn as fast as I wanted to learn them. She became my guardian, and she and Grandpaw Frank raised me. She saw to it I earned my own college degree. I owe so much of what and who I am to this woman.
Clara Berry left this world Tuesday night. This girl, this survivor who shouldn't have made it past puberty took on life with a passion, always questing, always curious, and ever full of fire, and lived until after her 86th birthday. She nurtured us and taught us and our lives changed because of her. She found us our opportunities and we either took them or we didn't, but she saw to it they were there. She cared for and taught three generations of children. Though she could never give birth to her own, there was never a moment that I was not her child. Her life was full and well-lived.
We sat with her that night, only a few nights ago at the first of the full moon, and talked of all the great things in our lives. I whispered to her though she remained unconscious, and spoke for all of us that she has shaped, even those that are still touched by the shadows.
I let her know that she had done well by us. I spoke of the things she had imparted to me, the great things we did together, and how proud she could feel of my beautiful, smart sister. I let her know she had done a good job, she had given us everything she could and we were, all in our different ways, changed and better for her presence in our lives. I told her that she could rest now, if she wanted to, that she deserved it (and that if she wanted to hang with us for a bit longer, we'd welcome that too). And then I sang with her, all the old songs I could remember, some just wordless tunes and some I will know always, Canaan's Land and the Ballad of Barbara Allen. And then I assured her the choice was hers, whatever she decided. She left us within the hour.
You deserve it, though I'll miss you. Don't forget the Charleston and the Jitterbug.
Written by Robyn Sue Young, Her great Niece.
She was born Clara Aleen Vance in the hills of the eastern United States, to the parents of nine children. Her mother contracted both measles and chicken pox during her pregnancy. Clara was born alive but malformed, missing organs, with spinal curvature and a twisted and useless leg. But she survived and grew to childhood. Her father made her a crutch and she learned how to walk. A doctor told her and her parents that with her body so badly formed, she would not live to see twelve years of age. But the fire that burned within Clara's soul would not be damped. And it never was.
She studied hard and dreamed. When she turned sixteen, Clara had her useless leg amputated. She fought through many obstacles, and overcame them. She completed her schooling and with twenty dollars in her shoe, left for the west. She came to California and worked hard and went college, becoming the first of her family to earn a university degree. She found a doctor who made her a prosthetic leg and began a career as a school teacher. She met and married Frank Berry, and together they made a life. Clara helped care for her sister's child and then took on the care of her niece's children when her niece could not care for them. Clara and Frank nurtured and these raised four children as their own. One of them was my mother.
Clara had retired from teaching by the time I was born. When I was almost three, Clara started keeping me with her. She taught me how to read, write, and all the lessons I could learn as fast as I wanted to learn them. She became my guardian, and she and Grandpaw Frank raised me. She saw to it I earned my own college degree. I owe so much of what and who I am to this woman.
Clara Berry left this world Tuesday night. This girl, this survivor who shouldn't have made it past puberty took on life with a passion, always questing, always curious, and ever full of fire, and lived until after her 86th birthday. She nurtured us and taught us and our lives changed because of her. She found us our opportunities and we either took them or we didn't, but she saw to it they were there. She cared for and taught three generations of children. Though she could never give birth to her own, there was never a moment that I was not her child. Her life was full and well-lived.
We sat with her that night, only a few nights ago at the first of the full moon, and talked of all the great things in our lives. I whispered to her though she remained unconscious, and spoke for all of us that she has shaped, even those that are still touched by the shadows.
I let her know that she had done well by us. I spoke of the things she had imparted to me, the great things we did together, and how proud she could feel of my beautiful, smart sister. I let her know she had done a good job, she had given us everything she could and we were, all in our different ways, changed and better for her presence in our lives. I told her that she could rest now, if she wanted to, that she deserved it (and that if she wanted to hang with us for a bit longer, we'd welcome that too). And then I sang with her, all the old songs I could remember, some just wordless tunes and some I will know always, Canaan's Land and the Ballad of Barbara Allen. And then I assured her the choice was hers, whatever she decided. She left us within the hour.
You deserve it, though I'll miss you. Don't forget the Charleston and the Jitterbug.
In memory of an incredible woman, who is finally dancing.
Written by Robyn Sue Young, Her great Niece.
She was born Clara Aleen Vance in the hills of the eastern United States, to the parents of nine children. Her mother contracted both measles and chicken pox during her pregnancy. Clara was born alive but malformed, missing organs, with spinal curvature and a twisted and useless leg. But she survived and grew to childhood. Her father made her a crutch and she learned how to walk. A doctor told her and her parents that with her body so badly formed, she would not live to see twelve years of age. But the fire that burned within Clara's soul would not be damped. And it never was.
She studied hard and dreamed. When she turned sixteen, Clara had her useless leg amputated. She fought through many obstacles, and overcame them. She completed her schooling and with twenty dollars in her shoe, left for the west. She came to California and worked hard and went college, becoming the first of her family to earn a university degree. She found a doctor who made her a prosthetic leg and began a career as a school teacher. She met and married Frank Berry, and together they made a life. Clara helped care for her sister's child and then took on the care of her niece's children when her niece could not care for them. Clara and Frank nurtured and these raised four children as their own. One of them was my mother.
Clara had retired from teaching by the time I was born. When I was almost three, Clara started keeping me with her. She taught me how to read, write, and all the lessons I could learn as fast as I wanted to learn them. She became my guardian, and she and Grandpaw Frank raised me. She saw to it I earned my own college degree. I owe so much of what and who I am to this woman.
Clara Berry left this world Tuesday night. This girl, this survivor who shouldn't have made it past puberty took on life with a passion, always questing, always curious, and ever full of fire, and lived until after her 86th birthday. She nurtured us and taught us and our lives changed because of her. She found us our opportunities and we either took them or we didn't, but she saw to it they were there. She cared for and taught three generations of children. Though she could never give birth to her own, there was never a moment that I was not her child. Her life was full and well-lived.
We sat with her that night, only a few nights ago at the first of the full moon, and talked of all the great things in our lives. I whispered to her though she remained unconscious, and spoke for all of us that she has shaped, even those that are still touched by the shadows.
I let her know that she had done well by us. I spoke of the things she had imparted to me, the great things we did together, and how proud she could feel of my beautiful, smart sister. I let her know she had done a good job, she had given us everything she could and we were, all in our different ways, changed and better for her presence in our lives. I told her that she could rest now, if she wanted to, that she deserved it (and that if she wanted to hang with us for a bit longer, we'd welcome that too). And then I sang with her, all the old songs I could remember, some just wordless tunes and some I will know always, Canaan's Land and the Ballad of Barbara Allen. And then I assured her the choice was hers, whatever she decided. She left us within the hour.
You deserve it, though I'll miss you. Don't forget the Charleston and the Jitterbug.
Written by Robyn Sue Young, Her great Niece.
She was born Clara Aleen Vance in the hills of the eastern United States, to the parents of nine children. Her mother contracted both measles and chicken pox during her pregnancy. Clara was born alive but malformed, missing organs, with spinal curvature and a twisted and useless leg. But she survived and grew to childhood. Her father made her a crutch and she learned how to walk. A doctor told her and her parents that with her body so badly formed, she would not live to see twelve years of age. But the fire that burned within Clara's soul would not be damped. And it never was.
She studied hard and dreamed. When she turned sixteen, Clara had her useless leg amputated. She fought through many obstacles, and overcame them. She completed her schooling and with twenty dollars in her shoe, left for the west. She came to California and worked hard and went college, becoming the first of her family to earn a university degree. She found a doctor who made her a prosthetic leg and began a career as a school teacher. She met and married Frank Berry, and together they made a life. Clara helped care for her sister's child and then took on the care of her niece's children when her niece could not care for them. Clara and Frank nurtured and these raised four children as their own. One of them was my mother.
Clara had retired from teaching by the time I was born. When I was almost three, Clara started keeping me with her. She taught me how to read, write, and all the lessons I could learn as fast as I wanted to learn them. She became my guardian, and she and Grandpaw Frank raised me. She saw to it I earned my own college degree. I owe so much of what and who I am to this woman.
Clara Berry left this world Tuesday night. This girl, this survivor who shouldn't have made it past puberty took on life with a passion, always questing, always curious, and ever full of fire, and lived until after her 86th birthday. She nurtured us and taught us and our lives changed because of her. She found us our opportunities and we either took them or we didn't, but she saw to it they were there. She cared for and taught three generations of children. Though she could never give birth to her own, there was never a moment that I was not her child. Her life was full and well-lived.
We sat with her that night, only a few nights ago at the first of the full moon, and talked of all the great things in our lives. I whispered to her though she remained unconscious, and spoke for all of us that she has shaped, even those that are still touched by the shadows.
I let her know that she had done well by us. I spoke of the things she had imparted to me, the great things we did together, and how proud she could feel of my beautiful, smart sister. I let her know she had done a good job, she had given us everything she could and we were, all in our different ways, changed and better for her presence in our lives. I told her that she could rest now, if she wanted to, that she deserved it (and that if she wanted to hang with us for a bit longer, we'd welcome that too). And then I sang with her, all the old songs I could remember, some just wordless tunes and some I will know always, Canaan's Land and the Ballad of Barbara Allen. And then I assured her the choice was hers, whatever she decided. She left us within the hour.
You deserve it, though I'll miss you. Don't forget the Charleston and the Jitterbug.
