I was privileged to spend the weekend at my dad’s family reunion. You see I wasn’t technically invited, it wasn’t for my generation, I was only there to document the event, but as I witnessed my dad, my aunts & uncle gather together with long lost cousins, (some of them meeting for the very first time) I knew this was exactly where I needed to be surrounded by their laughter and tears and what seemed like endless hours of storytelling about generations past. I felt like I found a little bit of myself as I witnessed this gathering I didn’t know was lost.
I have always had this extreme fondness for my Grandma Gretchen, whom I never had the privilege of meeting in this life. I guess you could say my affection for her came from the fact that I was named after her, and for the longest time I wanted to be like her. Growing up my parents had this picture of my grandma and grandpa in Hawaii sipping a drink out of a coconut. I remember telling myself I would get to Hawaii one day and drink from a coconut too. When I was in my late teens I taught myself to knit and discovered knitting came naturally. “Of course it did” I would tell myself. “I’m just like my Grandmother”.
So naturally being at this family reunion and hearing stories about my grandma with her eight sisters and three bothers I was intrigued, fascinated about their life in Montana back in the 1930s. Made me wonder what my life would be like if they had never left Great Falls in 1955. Perhaps that is why I sometimes craved small town living and romanticize life on the prairie — am I a Montanan at heart?
There were several stories that really struck me, but none more than this made me long for my Grandma more than I had before. She had two brothers who passed away. Her oldest brother Willis, died before she was born, she never knew him. Her next oldest brother Ellsworth died when he was about 20 in a work accident, which would have made my grandma a teenager. I couldn’t help, but recognize the similarities in our life story (brothers dying by accident at the prime of their life) and wished, so deeply wished, my grandma had been alive for me when my brother passed away and had been able to shed some light, given me some words of wisdom that would have helped my younger, inexperienced self heal.
Her generation is gone now, the last of her siblings, Doris, died in 2009. I met my great aunt Doris a few times in Montana as I recall, but I was too young, too immature to understand what a treasure I had in her. Why didn’t I sit and talk with her about my grandma? Why didn’t I ask her about life in Montana? How could I have been so careless? How could I just watch my grandparents generation die (both my mothers&fathers) without really trying to understand their world?
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I didn’t see. I didn’t understand, but I do now.
Being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I’ve always been taught the importance of family history and genealogy work, but I didn’t understand until now the blessings that come from connecting the family tree. I was always so wrapped up in my immediate family to seek among the branches for answers, for connections, but oh I see how wrong I was. There is something very special about being surrounded by individuals who share the same blood, the same family history, the same scandals (yes there are several), the same heartaches, the same smile, the same laughter.
This past weekend the genealogy bug stirred deep in me. Getting to know those who have gone before, who are part of me, seeing them through their stories, and understanding their world is now inching it’s way to the top of my list.
I’d say I can’t wait to get started — but I already have.
Have you done any genealogy work?
I’m a bit intimidated, should I be?
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