Truitt Charles Bush.
A tiny person we were never sure would be.
If you’ve known me for any length of time, you probably understand some of the significance behind this name. Before we knew we would struggle with infertility, we knew that we wanted our children’s names to reflect our family history, and honor influential people in our lives.
Through a few different side projects we’ve been working on with our small businesses, we dove in to the world of tracing our families back as far as we could. With Mister, we’ve gone back as far as the early 1700s, found Revolutionary War records from Valley Forge, and some possible baptismal records from the Church of England. On my side, we’ve gotten to the late 1700s, which is about the time my folks showed up in Mississippi. Finding folks before they hoped on the boat that far back gets tricky. Through all of this research, we’ve seen names repeat generation after generation. People who were important to us were often named after people who were important to their parents, and so on and backwards in time it goes. There’s something grounding in that, for both of us, and we wanted to continue that tradition with our children.
Our son will be the first grandchild on both sides of the family (only and oldest kids, here), and he will be the first Bush born for his generation of the family. No chance at all of him being doted on to the point of rotten. Not a lick.
This is my maiden name, but it means even more to me because of the important men in my life who carry it. There aren’t a whole lot of us, and the ones that came to Mississippi first rooted themselves (deeply) in Holmes County.
My Pop moved from Holmes County to attend Mississippi College, and several years later found himself in Lowndes County, starting the Title IX program for the city school district.
My good looking Pop
My Pop died a year ago, this coming Thanksgiving, after a nasty battle with Parkinson’s Disease. He died a week short of his 80th birthday. We grieved his mind for a long time before we grieved his physical presence. He is still one of my favorite people. He was far from perfect, funny, an artisan, passionate about education in Mississippi, a do-it-yourselfer before it was trendy, and occasionally (hilariously, now) inappropriate.
I was his first (and probably favorite, not sorry) grandchild. I was dubbed the best potato digger-upper he’d ever seen at the young age of 6 years old. He snuck me money when he thought no one was looking every chance he got, and he brought donuts and apple fritters on Saturday mornings, even when I was a less than pleasant high schooler being awakened at the ungodly hour of 8:00am on a Saturday.
With our son being due so very close to the anniversary of his death, as well as his birthday, “Truitt” has extremely significant meaning for us, for me.
I have a daddy and a brother who also carry this name, and who will be involved in our son’s life (as any Papa and Tricky should be). It saddens me to know that my Pop will never know our son in this life, and this while this is far from theologically sound, I like to think my Pop knew our boy before we did and had a hand in sending him to us. If so, we’re in for a rascal, I just know it.
“Truitt” is rooted in love and affection for the first three men in my life that I loved unconditionally, whose name I carried myself for 24 years. Our son’s first name will reflect his maternal great/grandfather and uncle.
Charles is one of those names that’s probably in everyone’s family tree at some point. If your family tree has at least 3 generations in the south, its even more prominent, and probably a double name, because that’s what we do.
Charles pops up on all four sides of our family. Both paternal and maternal, for both Mister and myself, dating back to the late 1700s.
Most significantly, Mister’s father.
He wasn’t real impressed with my attempt at a candid photo.
My father in law in another one of my favorite people. He has treated me as his own since very early in our dating relationship. Mister is an only child, and to be taken in to his family in love and protection before we were even “legal” has meant so much to me. I seriously hit the jackpot with my in-laws.
He is one of the hardest workers I know. He has instilled that same work ethic in Mister, and is usually our first call when something breaks, something needs fixing, we have a question about a vehicle, something needs to be built/updated, whatever. He’s another one of those do-it-yourselfers before it was trendy, and long before there were YouTube tutorials.
He can’t leave the house without bumping into at least 5 people he knows well, and makes sure to have a good conversation with each of them. He’s rekindled my love of gardening and has enough land and equipment that affords me the opportunity to help him and my mother in law in the spring, and stocks our freezer with enough veggies to last the year. He’s one of the hardest people to shop for I’ve ever met, because he never “needs” anything.
“Charles” is in honor and homage to Mister’s father, and an encore to the uncles we have on both sides of the family. Our son’s middle name will reflect his paternal grandfather.
I sit here typing now, getting the breath knocked out of me by this tiny energetic human who’s got long legs like his Tricky and boney knees like a Bush, looking back on the journey we started years ago to meet this tiny soul absolutely astounds me. I think of our remaining frosty, chilling (ha) in the freezer still, and what that soul’s story might look like. I think of the hundreds of thousands of frosties in freezers, waiting for a chance, and I wonder who might they be.
God is so big, and so so small.
I’m still struggling with what this blog looks like while we’re on a break from infertility treatments, while we’re on the happy/intended side of the journey. Infertility will always be a major part of our lives. It doesn’t necessarily define us, but it plays a major role in who we are as individuals and as a team. We didn’t “beat” it, its something that still looms in the back of our minds. Its a fear that has been defeated for now, but we know it will not ever be completely vanquished. We still worry, we still plan, and we know that those plans are utterly useless, as all of our “plans” so far have been completely wrecked for the better.
And we watch our friends struggle, succeed, struggle some more, worry, cry, rejoice, and find their own story in this journey. Not one story looks the same, nor should it.
I look forward to the day that our son understands his story. It will not be something we ever hide from him. Honestly, we’re probably setting ourselves up for some interesting phone calls from teachers and friends’ parents, but we’ll deal with that later.
I look forward to the day when he understands the importance of who he is named after, and how those men influenced our lives so instrumentally. Like a good bourbon, Truitts and Bushes get better with age and generations.
May our son be an improvement on the already stellar models he has in his life.