As part of our planning to move in the next two years, we are beginning to divest ourselves of a lot of "stuff." A lot of books have already gone. Beatrix has tackled her office closet. The other day I decided to begin the same process in my office. I started with the most personal part of the office; the filing cabinet. I began that task with the most personal drawer in the cabinet, the bottom drawer, where a lot of personal material resides. That became an intensely painful time.
The bottom drawer contains, among other things, the fat files of my mother's papers, and another of my father's papers. Suddenly, I was cast back to the late 80's, when the two of them died, six months apart. I haven't looked at that material for over twenty years - a form of denial, I am sure.
Birth certificates, pictures, hand written notes, immigration papers, and a wealth of family tree material. I was overcome with grief and sadness, which clings to me yet, over 24 hours later. I traced my parents' families back as far as 1790. I encountered names I had long forgotten, like Erasmus Trowsse, a great great great uncle. I discovered the Lindsay family on my father's side, and that I am very distantly related to the former Mayor of New York City , John Lindsay. The information and its emotional meaning still swirls round in my brain. I feel overwhelmed and burdened with it. It's like my parents died just a few days ago, and I am only now starting to mourn them and the long families that trail behind them.
I had the presence of mind to make copies of everything family tree related, so I can pass it to my children. They will do as they like with it. I am fearful that I will do little more than read it over again, to try and take it in. I feel disappointed in myself that I didn't deal with this material twenty years ago. Another regret.
Today I began another drawer, and encountered files of sermons I preached in the 60's, 70's and 80's. I suddenly want to read them all, and cling to them. Why? I have ignored and forgotten them for decades. But they take me back. I read a funeral meditation I gave at the service of an old psychiatric colleague with whom I worked in Winnipeg. He died in the 70's. I was able to read and recall him well, a strong man who hid his amazing history from most of us until his family told us at the end of it all. I was quite eloquent over a man I knew and cared deeply about.
Reading an old letter of mother's, I came face to face with the warmth she radiated all the time I knew her. Seeing my father Certificate of Proficiency from the St John's Ambulance Corps, dated January 1923, just a few months before he came to Canada. Afresh surprise was discovered on a neatly printed card where he had quoted a full poem by Goethe, focused on faith and love. This, from the hand of an agnostic who had me thinking all my life that he was an atheist!
These papers will not go out. I will read them again and again, and recover my deceased parents with a fondness that suddenly wells up in me. Surely the remainder of my culling can't be more painful or revealing than this. Or could it be?
The bottom drawer contains, among other things, the fat files of my mother's papers, and another of my father's papers. Suddenly, I was cast back to the late 80's, when the two of them died, six months apart. I haven't looked at that material for over twenty years - a form of denial, I am sure.
Birth certificates, pictures, hand written notes, immigration papers, and a wealth of family tree material. I was overcome with grief and sadness, which clings to me yet, over 24 hours later. I traced my parents' families back as far as 1790. I encountered names I had long forgotten, like Erasmus Trowsse, a great great great uncle. I discovered the Lindsay family on my father's side, and that I am very distantly related to the former Mayor of New York City , John Lindsay. The information and its emotional meaning still swirls round in my brain. I feel overwhelmed and burdened with it. It's like my parents died just a few days ago, and I am only now starting to mourn them and the long families that trail behind them.
I had the presence of mind to make copies of everything family tree related, so I can pass it to my children. They will do as they like with it. I am fearful that I will do little more than read it over again, to try and take it in. I feel disappointed in myself that I didn't deal with this material twenty years ago. Another regret.
Today I began another drawer, and encountered files of sermons I preached in the 60's, 70's and 80's. I suddenly want to read them all, and cling to them. Why? I have ignored and forgotten them for decades. But they take me back. I read a funeral meditation I gave at the service of an old psychiatric colleague with whom I worked in Winnipeg. He died in the 70's. I was able to read and recall him well, a strong man who hid his amazing history from most of us until his family told us at the end of it all. I was quite eloquent over a man I knew and cared deeply about.
Reading an old letter of mother's, I came face to face with the warmth she radiated all the time I knew her. Seeing my father Certificate of Proficiency from the St John's Ambulance Corps, dated January 1923, just a few months before he came to Canada. Afresh surprise was discovered on a neatly printed card where he had quoted a full poem by Goethe, focused on faith and love. This, from the hand of an agnostic who had me thinking all my life that he was an atheist!
These papers will not go out. I will read them again and again, and recover my deceased parents with a fondness that suddenly wells up in me. Surely the remainder of my culling can't be more painful or revealing than this. Or could it be?
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