This modest catalogue of my life and my family was inspired by a feeling that the stories I had heard from my Mum and Dad should be captured somewhere, and not be lost to the dust of time. The more I thought about my Dad’s origin story, the more I realized that none of the players in that story are around to corroborate what I might find, and most of the relatives I might question about that period had all passed on. Without capturing what I knew of these stories, in time nothing would be left of this episode, minor in the scope of history but most significant in other ways, at least to me.
And in the exploring, it became clear just how significant this omission was. Although there is not much to tell, at least I knew something of the lives of my other three grandparents. But my paternal grandfather – my Dad’s Dad – was a solidly, dark mystery, a complete unknown. How could I have got so far through life and not even be bothered that I had no idea from whom I received a quarter of my genes ? The few scraps of the story I knew might be enough to find some thread to that part of my lineage, and at the very least give me a better story to pass on.
And then, in fleshing out what I remembered of the characters in these stories, a greater truth emerged. My eventual passing could not only extinguish the life of this particular mystery, but also all I knew about my own family, the mundane yet profound memories of times, places, people and faces, all the experiences of life with my parents and my siblings might also disappear. All would be gone. Many notable people have their lives scrutinized, documented, analyzed and published to some degree, dependent on the quality of the paper trail they leave behind them, and the memories of those they shared time with. Ultimately those biographies may become the source of more study, more analysis and perhaps even more documentation, depending on the profile of such a person.
But ordinary people like you and me, and the detail of the lives we lived, are lost in the ashes of time once we are gone from the world. We remain only in the memories of those who have known us until they too are departed. We exist only in ledgers in archives, our births, marriages and deaths listed in dusty books or computer files, the cold, bare statistics of our lives. And perhaps a stone in a churchyard somewhere – again, only visited and tended so long as there is still someone around who remembers us enough to care.
It doesn’t have to be that way. Lives can have value even if they are lived outside of exalted royal circles, political chambers or battlefields. Achievements are not limited to sporting records, platinum discs, or great art. It’s almost impossible to live a decent span of years and not generate an experience that would be of interest to someone, especially the loved ones that come after you. Especially family.
I thought I would try and find out what I could about my father’s origins. But I realized my Dad’s story – at least what I can bring to this table – is really my story, seen through the lens of my life, my memories. And it naturally follows that my story is really the story of my family – my ancestors, my parents, my siblings – brought together for those that come behind me.
And if this is my family’s story, something more than just my own jottings about the characters in this saga, then it again follows that there will be other lenses to look through, other memories to capture, other tales to tell about this family FROM this family, to leave behind for the ones that follows.
My hope is that this exercise can become a kind of family omnibus, with stories of real people, real events, captured with familial love, and that it leaves behind something more than a list of dates to represent our lives. What better way for me to know my parents and siblings better, than to know how the rest of my family see them, and what better legacy to leave behind but the story of a family told by the players, dedicated to their descendants.