A Quest For

Will’s always challenging questions provoked the last two emails I recently sent the Fabulous Four providing all our family's genetic history.

I truly had never honestly looked back in time and realized the incredible hardships endured during those years by the extended family members caring for me as a child.

When I reread the sent emails, our family history made “Angela’s Ashes” look like a comedy.

My sister, and I were always insulated with warm clothes, good food, dental and medical care despite the lack of hospitalization and often a steady income.

Suddenly, Will’s inquiries opened my eyes to paternal Grandparents who dealt not only with their own marital problems as well as a need to care for four orphaned grandchildren, but also other pressing personal issues including family discord. Yet I had never remembered the home they shared unselfishly with my cousins as anything but a haven brimming with joy and love,

The amazing part is that his questioning also made me finally understand that my sister and I emerged relatively unscathed only due to the strength and character of those who loved and cared for us. I was aware of a bit more than my sister, because of her youth, but I really only recall the jokes, laughter ringing in the dark night, a tall Grandfather whose kitchen always had a full fragrant coffee pot simmering on the black iron stove, and a stately Grandmother getting ready for work, There is no memory submerged or otherwise of any whispered or spoken worries about money for food or rent or doctor bills.

Parkinson’s Disease was almost unknown in the early 1900’s, but for some obscure reason it invaded the bodies of two New York women. One belonged to my maternal Grandmother. Desperately looking for a cure, her adult children had a Park Avenue physician make weekly house calls to their West 47th Street tenement to visit their invalid Mother. I never heard objections from any of her adult children about the ongoing need for constant care or the increasing medical bills. It was their responsibility, and they accepted it.

Nor have I ever forgotten the oval wooden kitchen table in the railroad apartment literally overloaded with fresh food prepared daily. Meals were never delivered or prepared by others. If there was a grumble from either my Aunt or Mother who shared the culinary labor, I never heard it. And I truly doubt there ever was a murmur of dissent.

Admittedly, there was a strong link to the family problems that were caused by alcohol on both sides of the family. Despite that, the occasional weakness shared by some of the male members never resulted in criminal activity or required police intervention.

I truly owe Will a thank you for causing me look back again at those years with more clarity than ever before. Relating their story to a Great Great Grandson allowed me a realistic viewpoint of a long gone era. I revisited with honesty and appreciation the many amazing people who insulated both my sister and I with so much loving care. They also protected us from undue anxiety during an era when there was no medical insurance, Salk vaccine, Medicaid, Penicillin, Social Security benefits, support groups, chemotherapy, bone marrow transplants, charge accounts, IRA’s, or GoFundMe sites.

His honest quest for information also made me acutely aware that while I do believe I count my blessings, I really don’t quite often enough. The world is indeed a much better place for me and those I love than it was for so many who taught me about strength and independence and love of family.