Organizing the material in each section chronologically, I inserted them into the albums and numbered each photo, document and page. I identified each album sequentially on its spine with a gold foil letter from a packet purchased at a supermarket.
Setting up my tape recorder, I opened the first album. Contemplating the first two facing pages, I recorded what I was going to do in a general introduction, then waded into the narration: photographs, documents, and the flooding memories. Nothing fancy, low key, free association.
The first volumes dealt with people of whom I knew little, so my comments were brief and sketchy. When I reached familiar ground, my remarks were detailed: 'Picture 4 on Page 12 was taken in August of '52 when we lived in beautiful downtown XYZ. Our house is on the right; in the foreground is A, B and C, and coming down the walk is the D family: H, I and J. Soon after the photo was taken, by K, we all drove to AA, visited the city of BB, and had lunch at CC. It was that afternoon that the ZZ incident occurred, and about which I've often talked. For those of you who haven't heard the story, here's what happened….'
And so, far into the night and for days and nights afterward. The task is done, and the archives are ready to pass along to the next generation.
Whenever the subject comes up with others, or when I speak to groups, I urge against putting off this task. We all share in the two great mysteries: mortality and uncertainty. Among the treasures we leave behind are our memories, especially those of family and happy times.
No Answers
Occasionally, among the letters I received, was one that reflected deep disappointment and anguish. The writer had tried to contact a grandchild-or a grandparent-who was too faraway geographically or beyond a barrier of circumstance. There were no answers. *** A man in his eighties wrote that he had a couple of dozen grandchildren and great-grandchildren scattered around the world. Not one had written to him or telephoned, either on their own or in response to his letters and gifts. He was a widower, lived alone, and was the only remaining grandparent. He wanted his grandchildren to know that he was still alive. He had much to offer them, he said, about the family's history and traditions.
'Should I just give up?' he asked.
I suggested that he, as the only living grandparent, persevere and to not accept defeat. Whatever the past might have been, his advanced years called for him to be nonjudgmental, empathic, and healing. I suggested that his grandchildren have or will have families of their own and, in time, will also be grandparents. As elders, they will reflect on their lives and, with a perspective vastly different from their youth and middle years, recall that Grandpa, in his advanced years, had tried to reach out to them as a grandparent in deed as well as in name.
In remembering, they would better understand their own roles as grandparents and their needs as elderly. Through their remembering he will become the 'grandpa' he had sought, long before, to be. Persistence, I reminded him-not giving up-was vital to his well being if not to his life. To stop trying would be to accept defeat. The elderly do not take defeats lightly; at some point the added weight accelerates their downward spiral.