There were five cousins – my brothers Tom and Rick, and me; and our cousins Wayne and Susan. Now there are just three. My youngest brother Tom died 50 years ago. My cousin Susan passed away just last week. As children we were always together to celebrate birthdays, Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. Grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, moms and dads told stories, taught us games, and there was always plenty of food and lots of laughter.
I grew up knowing I was a part of a group of many people known as “relatives,” each with unique personalities and fascinating stories. In the 1800’s our ancestors came from Germany and settled in St. Louis, in the city or the country nearby. We had large families then. My maternal grandparents, born in the late 1800’s, had eight siblings each. My father’s father had eight siblings, his mother had just two. The next generations were smaller. My father was an only child and my mother had two older brothers. My mother’s brothers each had just one child – my cousins Wayne and Susan. I loved the times when our larger extended family got together for summer picnics in the park, fireworks displays in the country, or gatherings for baby showers, weddings and even funerals. These were the times when we would all be together, with forty or fifty people, all related, all in one place! We grew up, married, and brought the next generation into the fold. We also moved away from the place of our origins, gathered with relatives less often and lost the story-keepers, as one by one the elders passed away. Now there are just three: Wayne, Rick and me.
In younger years I loved going home and sitting for hours with my children, while my parents brought out old photos and recalled happenings from years gone and previous generations. Now I am the keeper of the photos, the memories and the stories, along with Rick and Wayne. Retirement has given me the time to reflect on what I think I know and to discover missing pieces and incomplete versions of the stories. The process is bittersweet, recalling good times, knowing some regrets of my own and others, missing individuals. Sometimes this process is overwhelming with too many emotions flooding in. So the brain goes into self-protection mode and says, “Stop!” That’s “the event” that happened to me a year ago. Doctors call it broken heart syndrome. For me it resulted in a stroke.
to be continued……
I grew up knowing I was a part of a group of many people known as “relatives,” each with unique personalities and fascinating stories. In the 1800’s our ancestors came from Germany and settled in St. Louis, in the city or the country nearby. We had large families then. My maternal grandparents, born in the late 1800’s, had eight siblings each. My father’s father had eight siblings, his mother had just two. The next generations were smaller. My father was an only child and my mother had two older brothers. My mother’s brothers each had just one child – my cousins Wayne and Susan. I loved the times when our larger extended family got together for summer picnics in the park, fireworks displays in the country, or gatherings for baby showers, weddings and even funerals. These were the times when we would all be together, with forty or fifty people, all related, all in one place! We grew up, married, and brought the next generation into the fold. We also moved away from the place of our origins, gathered with relatives less often and lost the story-keepers, as one by one the elders passed away. Now there are just three: Wayne, Rick and me.
In younger years I loved going home and sitting for hours with my children, while my parents brought out old photos and recalled happenings from years gone and previous generations. Now I am the keeper of the photos, the memories and the stories, along with Rick and Wayne. Retirement has given me the time to reflect on what I think I know and to discover missing pieces and incomplete versions of the stories. The process is bittersweet, recalling good times, knowing some regrets of my own and others, missing individuals. Sometimes this process is overwhelming with too many emotions flooding in. So the brain goes into self-protection mode and says, “Stop!” That’s “the event” that happened to me a year ago. Doctors call it broken heart syndrome. For me it resulted in a stroke.
to be continued……
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