Editor’s Note
Human beings look separate because you see them walking about separately. But then we are so made that we can see only the present moment. If we could see the past, then of course it would look different. For there was a time when every man was part of his mother, and (earlier still) part of his father as well, and when they were part of his grandparents. If you could see humanity spread through time, as God sees it, it would look like one single growing thing—rather like a very complicated tree. Every individual would appear connected with every other. – C. S. Lewis
I think that family historians, more than most, are mindful of the strong ties that bind family members together. Yet, every single day the stories of millions of lives are forever lost. And it’s not just the stories of the distant generations t hat are fading fast.I was reminded of the fragile nature of family lore not long ago when my grandniece Kristin came to town. She is a lawyer and came for a short visit while she was involved in a trial in Chicago.
Because she grew up on the East Coast, Kristin and I had never before had an opportunity to get to know one another. In the course of the conversation, we talked about my father who had also been a lawyer, and we wondered what he would have thought of his great-granddaughter following the same career path that he had chosen.
During her visit, Kristin eagerly went through a book of photos and memorabilia that I’d put together about my father—he died before any of my five siblings or I really got to know him. Only a few mementos and photos, his college yearbooks, and my one surviving brother’s faint memories of him are all we have left of our dad.
While she was here, I shared with Kristin letters written by my grandfather, my mother, and my brother (Kristin’s grandfather), and even a letter that Kristin’s own mother had written to me when she was expecting this lovely young woman—expressing her opinion that she was going to have a boy. The strong kicking going on inside of Kristin’s mom was all she had to go on in the days before the gender of a baby could be known prior to birth.
As we went through the notebooks that I’ve created for each of my siblings, parents, and grandparents, even I was surprised by the vast number of letters I saved from the five generations since my grandfather’s era. The aunt who raised me probably instilled the practice in me. On the day she was married, my aunt moved thousands of miles away from her widowed father and her siblings, just as I did on the day I was married. Both her children and my children grew up without grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins nearby to help celebrate ho lidays and special occasions. Instead, we, then and now, cherish letters and photos that many families don’t have. They are mere fragments of lives but they provide a glimpse of the enduring ties that bind.
We want to remember the family that bequeathed to us its physical traits, stories, works, and dreams. It’s the same family that gave us our first thoughts and the traditions that we cherish today.
Yet each day more and more of the stories of our families’ lives are lost forever. That’s why we need to make every effort today to preserve the stories and memories of our living connections to our pasts—while they’re still around to tell them. For we are indeed connected to one another in ways we can not see.
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