For the last month I have been discovering the names of my ancestors back six or seven generations and I enjoy so much when I get one of those little leafs like they advertise on TV. I try to find their birth date, their death date and sometimes I can find the date they were married. Anything else I find is all icing on the cake. Something so small as seeing that one of my Great Grandfathers was a shoemaker is fun to find.
Several men of my family tree served in the Civil War and I found a grave of one who served in the War of 1812 as a rifleman. I was saddened to see that one of my great uncles died at eight years old of typhoid fever. Many times when I came across a census, one of the question asked of mothers was "How many children given birth to?". Then in the next column "How many still living?". There were few who had not lost a child. The mortality rate for babies was very high in what we sometimes call the good ole days.
In 1943, things were better medically speaking, but there was no ultra sound to detect problems in pregnancy or monitors to record stress levels of the unborn. In modern days Bryant Ferrill Camp might have been delivered a healthy baby boy but this little one was never to take a breath, see his mother's face or know life outside his mother's womb. I began thinking of this child a few years ago when my mom and I talked about where he is buried. She and my uncle Rex, both in their eighties talked often by phone about this younger brother. They came from an era that took seriously the respect shown for those who die and the fact that he did not have a marker was a source of concern for these two. My Mom was pretty sure he was buried at the feet of their grandmother, Lucy Catherine Ferrill, but since there was never a marker neither were sure.
When a child or a baby dies, there is always the question "Why?". Why did this little one grow beneath the heart of this mother, my grandmother, only to succumb to death hours before he was delivered into this world. It was thought that since this was a full term baby that the umbilical cord was around his neck. According to my mom's recollection he was a plump, beautiful baby that looked as if he had just fallen asleep. Now almost 70 years after his birth there are at least three of us, here on earth, who wish we had known him.
There is one thing for certain, God knew him. The bible says he knew him even before he was conceived. It must have saddened our heavenly Father to see this life end before it began. I am comforted by this familiar scripture.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:13-16 NIV)
Bryant Ferrill Camp born September 19, 1943 and died September 19,1943.
A blessed thought is that he, by now, has seen his mother's face!
Mary Helen (Ferrill) Camp born March 5, 1903 and died December 15, 1968
And for certain, they both have seen the Father's face!
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