Looking in the rear vision mirror

This is my father’s family. That is my dad in the middle. He is; or rather was, one of five children. He was the only son. Dad had four sisters. 

We said our farewell to one of those sisters on Friday. All but one in the photo above have passed away.  Dad’s eldest sister survives all. 

I never knew my grandfather.  He died in 1965; the year before I was born and while my parents were on their honeymoon.  My grandmother died when I was eight years old.  I have few memories of her although plenty of wonderful respect for her through stories told by my father.    

When my Dad died three years ago, I went searching for stories so I could put together his eulogy. I knew very little of his story before the age of thirty-two; the year I was born.  In doing so I unearthed some notes that not only provided story material but shed some light on some of the why’s Dad chose some of the roads taken in his life. I learnt how a childhood lived in the shadow of the Great Depression and the resultant poverty shaped both his dreams and his determination to be a landowner.

As sobering as a funeral is I am also grateful for the time to pause to remember someone’s life and reflect on our mortality.  It occurred to me that while this side of my family tree is well researched and I may know who my ancestors are, I do not know their stories.  I am confronted by the fact that time is running out, because soon, my generation will be the eldest and their stories will be lost.

I suddenly have a desire to look in the rear vision mirror. I feel an urge to look beyond my own life and begin to really listen and understand the stories of my father’s family. Perhaps in doing so I will come to understand a little more of who I am and the whisper of stories that are in my DNA.