I cried today.
This is odd for two reasons: 1) I don’t often cry. 2) I cried over events which occurred in the 1600s.
In 1609 John Rolfe set out for the New World with is wife. A violent storm caused them to be shipwrecked on the Island of Bermuda. While on Bermuda, John’s wife gave birth to a girl they named Bermuda after the island. Little Bermuda died only a few months old and her mother followed her shortly thereafter.
John Rolfe finally made it to the Jamestown colony and established a farm there. It was there he met the now famous Pocahontas and the two were wed. Pocahontas gave birth to a son, Thomas in 1614. The Rolfe family (including the indian princess) went to England for a time and in 1617 began their journey home. Pocahontas never made it back to the Americas. She died of a respirator disease in 1617. Thomas was only three.
I found my heart broken and I wept. I cried for a baby girl who never grew up and her heartbroken mother who followed her into death. I cried for a little boy who would grow up with very little memory of his mother.
I though of my wife and children. Oh how I treasure them.