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A Rose for Sharon

    For many years now, I have posted the single pink rose image to my social media on August 19th and June 4th. Those who know me well know it is in honor of my little sister, Sharon, who died in 1994. Her birth date and her death date. That has been the extent of my communication about my sister or her life since. Thirty-two years is a long time to hold onto words. I have considered writing about her. It doesn't matter how deep my feelings are for her or how much I cherish her memory, the words don't come easily, if at all. Words feel cheap and wrong. It's hard to even describe why. Maybe it is because she was our family's: Our sister, our cousin, our niece, our daughter. We knew her best, so no one else should have the right to know about her like we did. Maybe that's why I hold onto my words. But I realize that if I don't tell her story, who will?  I have spent hour upon hour researching my long-gone ancestors, yet I haven't written about my own sister. ...
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It's a Journey


Wow! I'm tired. 

I just spent an hour—just an hour—working through one more box in my "archive closet." That's the closet in my office which holds all the photos, memorabilia, artifacts, etc., collected from various family members over the years. 

Today's task was a box of my own stuff. It was full of correspondence, journals, and file folders from as far back as my high school days. 

I'm sure that I thought I would use those high school English papers again when I saved them. Or the various college term papers from Cleveland State University (Class of 1984, thank you!) But, I can't think of a single time I have in the intervening 40+ years! Into the trash they went!

Then there were the notebooks and various journals. Egads! I could only skim those while wincing at my emotional turmoil over this guy or that incident. I was single then, so there was also much introspection as to why I felt or thought the way I did. The journals covered my time working after college in Cleveland, and later my work and social life in New York after I moved there to pursue my dance "career" and before Jim and I got married. But that person is long since gone, and gratefully, I felt very detached from these items. Those got shredded to spare anyone—like our kids—the possibility of having to read any of it at some future date.

That was the easy stuff.

What wore me out completely was going through the correspondence, mostly from family members who have passed. Innumerable cards from Mom, for every occasion from birthdays to holidays to passing on recipes I had asked for "and a few extra" to me. A forgotten letter from Dad after Jim and I got engaged. Silly cards from my sister Sharon when I lived in New York. A card from my aunt Margaret—aka my Fairy Godmother—who took care to write and check in on me in New York. Towards the end of the hour I devoted to this task, I had to simply stop and put the pile down. My emotions were heavy.

I did get a few laughs from what I found, too. One item was a birthday poem I wrote Mom when she turned 53. (Fifty-three!! To think I am nearly nine years past the age she was when she got that poem...) But, gotta admit, I still giggled at some of what I wrote. I could be funny.

And the image above, a news clipping of our second dog, Pookie, made me smile and utter, "Aw!" Pookie came to us as a stray puppy when Jim and I lived in Tyrone, Pennsylvania, near State College. Our first dog, Mason, went out to do his business one night, and came back with the puppy! Though we tried (halfheartedly) to find this cutie a home as we were in the process of moving to Winona, Minnesota, we ended up keeping her. I think all bets were off once we named her Pookie! The photo captured a moment in time several years later, when a roving newspaper photographer just happened to find her on a particularly snowy day chest deep in the fluff.

My endeavors to condense the items in my "archive closet" spring from two things: First, I really need to make room for a filing cabinet in there, and I need floor space. Second, like many others of my age and older, I'm wondering who will want my collection of family history/genealogy stuff. Maybe you or someone you know is wondering that too.

So, I'm working through boxes. But it's a journey. Sometimes I'm slogging up a mountain of emotions, sometimes I'm laughing as I slide down the other side. My strategy is to work on the closet bit by bit, an hour here or an hour there. That's about just right.

I share this as encouragement if you have struck out on a similar endeavor. Be gentle. Take your time. Enjoy the journey. Lifetimes of memories didn't accumulate overnight, and they won't be dispersed overnight either.

Until next time...

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© Nancy Gilbride Casey, 2024. All rights reserved.


A Researcher’s Aside

If you are wondering how to approach downsizing your own family collection, I highly recommend reading the December 2023 issue of Stirpes, the journal of the Texas State Genealogical Society. The issue's theme is "Curating Your Personal Archive," includes articles, advice, and more on the topic. Check with your local library or genealogical society to inquire if they have the issue.

 



 

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