Family Stories

This week I got word that my grandmother in Calgary has begun a decline.  She has had health issues and dementia for the last few years, so it's not a particular surprise, but it is sad.  She's always been the family historian for that side of the family, sharing the stories about her parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and so on.

I think most families have this person.  The person who tells funny, interesting, or meaningful stories about other family members.  Sometimes, if a family is lucky, that person isn't reliant only on their own memories (or family gossip) but has a treasure trove of stories passed down through generations.  They're not always entirely accurate, but they can make a big difference about how a family defines themselves.

A lot of our family history defines ourselves as explorers.  We've frequently picked up and moved on to find new opportunities.  Family legend claims that one of our ancestors was on the first Norse ships to cross to Greenland and Vinland (probably Nova Scotia).  More recent records show the crossing of my great-great-grandfather and his brothers, who settled in Drumheller, Alberta and found brides, including three sisters.  (A plot bunny that will probably remain out of my reach as a writer for the forseeable future.)  

We have a long tradition of military and government service, travelling across the world.  There is a long-running joke in our family about the Family Postal Service, which I've used on more than one occasion.  My son lost his favourite toy when he was ten, and we discovered that it was no longer sold in North America.  However, it was available at a store in Spain.  One relative went to the store, and picked up the toy.  Another relative carried the toy from Spain to England.  A third relative brought it from England to Halifax, where it was driven up to us in Ottawa by a fourth relative.  (All significantly faster and more reliable than Amazon shipping, in my opinion.)

To me, family is a concept of far reaching tentacles that expand far beyond the typical range of siblings and cousins.  I get updates from around the world during the holidays.

This kind of closeness wouldn't happen without the shared stories.  It makes us more than a collection of random strangers with linked DNA.  Our roots aren't in particular locations, but in our bonds with one another, most of which come from the stories we swap.

My aunt and several of my cousins have spent the last few years trying to write down my grandmother's stories, to ensure they live on after her.  And interestingly, even though my grandmother often fails to recognize people, she can still tell a great story.

It's sad for me to think of my grandmother's passing, but it gives me some comfort to know that she'll live on in our stories, the same way she's made long-dead relatives live on in hers.

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