Probably one of the saddest stories in our family, for me anyway, is about my Uncle Willy. He was born in San Luis Obispo in 1907 and died in Switzerland in 1938. There are no known photos of him. As best we know, he was possibly born with Downs Syndrome and was deaf with a cleft palate. Willie was fourteen when my mother was born. There are only two stories I was ever told about my uncle. One was about the day he was taken from the ranch in Cayucos and sent to Switzerland. My mother said she was very young and loved her brother very much as did all the siblings. When the kids realized what was happening that day, they all hid Willie to prevent him from being sent away. Sadly, it didn't work for long and they watched their brother leave never to see him again.
When we were in Switzerland a few years ago, my cousins took me to the cemetery where our family is buried. Willie wasn't there but they remembered stories about him. Hearing how my Uncle Willie was known for sitting on the front porch, crying out, broke my heart. I can't imagine the pain of being separated from the only family you ever knew. In truth, I have always been a bit disappointed that my grandfather would do such a thing but I wasn't there so I don't fully understand the whole story. I do know, it was a sad memory for my mother. I believe in heaven and I know Willy is there now. He is not suffering. He is whole and healthy with his family. I truly believe this and look forward to the day we meet and I can see him face-to-face for the first and forever time.
Aunt Sisi, Aunt Olga (back)
Cousins Beverly and Mickey (front)
My Aunt Olga was the eighth child of my grandparents. I was only four when she died so I don't really have any memory of her. I do remember the day she died though because my mother was crying with one of her sisters and they were talking about how yellow Aunt Olga's skin had been. Now, I understand my poor aunt was jaundiced with her cancer but at four, this sounded like a strange and terrifying thing, to be yellow. It still makes me sad to think about her leaving us so young at only fifty-one years old, the same age as my sister Kelly when she died, also from cancer. Aunt Olga's husband, Uncle Albert, had died of cancer five years earlier, leaving their only child, my cousin Beverly, with no parents. My Aunt Meta and Uncle Lorin took Beverly, who was about fifteen. My cousin Beverly is a strong woman who has done some pretty amazing things in her life, including raising two decent human beings as a single-mother. I have often thought Aunt Olga and Uncle Albert had to have been pretty great people to raise such a strong daughter those first fifteen years.
Tonight has been sad to look back on and attempt to write about but it's important to take what we know and share it with our children and grandchildren. These family stories connect us, from generation to generation. In this time of social media and cell phones, it's even more important to show the younger generations what relational living looks like. Part of that comes through sharing our family's stories. I can't honestly say my grandchildren love when I first confiscate their electronics when we're together but I can promise you, by the time they leave, we have shared many conversations of those that went before us and it's a very good thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment