Suddenly I Realized That They Were All Gone

In the summer of 1999, my grandparents on my mom's side celebrated 50 years of marriage. 50 years! My mom and I drove from Colorado to Kentucky to celebrate with them and their closest friends and family. A local eatery that I had frequented growing up hosted the party, and the room was full of friendly and familiar faces. I was 18 years old and many of those people had been in my life since I was a young child. Having just graduated high school, I was anxious for my next adventure: college. While I was barely knocking on the door of adulthood, most of these party guests were in their 50's, 60's and 70's. For a couple hours we all laughed, celebrated and commemorated the occasion with pictures. We talked about our families and what we were looking forward to in the coming months. Many of them inquired about my college plans and wished me luck. It was what I imagine family reunions to be – full of food, jubilation and camaraderie.

Fast forward 11 years to the summer of 2010. I was pregnant with my first child (a boy), and my grandfather died unexpectedly two weeks before his birth. As an only grandchild, his death sent me reeling. I still vividly remember the call from my mom to break the news, and the days following where I was robotically going through the motions. Grandpa Jimmy was truly beloved by everyone he met - he was the walking embodiment of joyfulness. Even though I had lived through the Columbine shootings, this was the first time I experienced the deep loss that comes from the death of someone close. Grandpa was so excited to meet my son, and I know he would have loved Elliott immensely. I also know that Elliott would have responded in kind to grandpa’s infectious smile and loving nature. We honored his memory by naming our son Elliott James, and I regularly enjoy telling him about the person he is named after.

I was lucky to have another 8 years with my grandmother before she died. Although she lived for nearly a decade longer, she was never quite the same after grandpa passed. It was a lonely and unfamiliar road for her, one that took its toll over time. During one of our visits, I remember thinking to myself that she was just existing because she seemed especially tired and distant. When her time did come, I held her hand as she passed. In the following days, I helped my mom (who is also an only child) prepare for the funeral and reception. There was so much to do, and yet it all felt very arbitrary and unnecessary.

As I was cleaning grandma's house to ready it for guests, I came across some photo books. I began silently flipping through pages, reminiscing on the moments pictured, when I stumbled on a set of photos taken during their 50th wedding anniversary. Suddenly, all those familiar faces were staring at me again. As I looked at them, one by one, trying to recall their connection to my grandparents, I found myself thinking "They are all gone." Nearly every single person (save for a few) who attended that party was no longer living. I felt a profound sense of sadness at the realization that an entire group of people - family and friends - had moved on from this life. It was the first time I felt as though a part of my childhood was truly gone.

Since their passing, I’ve had many dreams about my grandparents. Recently, those dreams have increased in frequency, likely triggered by the recent loss of my uncle (my grandma’s brother). When I was growing up, I used to visit my grandparents in Madisonville, Kentucky at least once a year. It's a small town where my mom grew up and much of her family stayed in the area. There were a handful of people who were 'staples' during those visits - I saw them every time. Uncle Ralph was one of them. Like my grandpa, he was a kind soul and an anchor to many around him. Although he isn't the first family member to pass since my grandparents, his death has resonated with me in a prolonged way. I suspect it is because he was one of the few remaining connections to those childhood trips and all the fond memories associated with them.

There is a sadness and resignation that comes with realizing the loss of a generation. Perhaps it coincides with the delayed recognition that history influences the future, and that we are in fact a product of those who came before us. Unfortunately, that reality isn’t always clear until we find ourselves without a direct lifeline to the past. For me, it wasn’t until I sat down to write the eulogy for my grandmother that I realized just how strong her influence was on me. As I began to think about her whole life, before and after she became my grandma, I realized I knew little about her full story. But, I did know that she had endowed me with an unconventional strength, independence and obstinance that has served me well on many occasions.

If I could go back to the anniversary party, I would make a point to ask each attendee, including my grandparents, to write something down. Maybe a piece of advice, their favorite memory, or what they were looking forward to most in the upcoming year. I would love to know how they met their spouse, or if their lives turned out the way they had hoped. I now wonder what they dreamt of being when they were little or what their greatest wish for their children was. It is true that I only knew these people at a snapshot in their lives, but there was so much more to them. How neat it would be to have some piece of history carried forward – something palpable that I could reference 20 years later as a bridge to the past, to a group of people whose stories should be told to future generations.

Maybe that is why I am so drawn to writing and recording my thoughts – so that when I become the face in the picture staring back at the onlooker, they have something tangible to tell my story.