get moving. Ring, Ring. The sound that means my kids have to get up
and going. Ring, Ring. The sound that means getting back to school
and reviewing the basics. Ring, Ring.
It's also a good time to review the information I have collected in my
genealogy files. It's time to see if I can try once more to locate
some missing kin. Yet again, I am trying to find the grown, hopefully
breathing, children of a family member with whom all contact was lost
some 40 years ago. You know how it is. People don't stay put. The
military or jobs take people away. You get married, have kids, go to
soccer games, fall into bed exhausted at night. Our routine. And
sometimes the far away family gets forgotten. This is especially true
when a divorce occurs. Such is the case in my family.
My father left home, courtesy of World War II, and never moved back to
Pittsburgh. He settled in the south after he married his Charleston
sweetheart. I should add they met while he was in the Army and he was
in Charleston for his job. Ah, another story for another day.
Back to basics. His older brother, Bud, divorced his wife, left
Pittsburgh and moved to Seattle. The grandmother, who also relocated
to Seattle, kept in touch with his two boys. Upon her death, all
contact was lost. I knew the names of the boys and the approximate
years they were born. I even have pictures of them taken in the early
1950s. From time to time, when family members gathered, they wondered
whatever happened to them.
From time to time, when I was in Pittsburgh on business, I would try to
find these missing boys. The voice on the other end of the phone line
always said, "Not me." So I moved on to other lines. Years have
passed. Earlier this month, one of my geni friends asked me to try and
find these boys again.
This time, I did find one of them. To my dismay, it was an easy find.
You see, I found his obituary dated in 2005. I've lost him and I never
knew him. His obituary did provide me the names of his grown children.
Now I am on a mad hunt to locate them. I contacted the funeral home
and asked if I could be put in touch with them. The voice said, "No."
I asked the funeral home to send my info to the children, along with a
website address of my "family" cemetery in Pittsburgh. My goal was to
show them I was legit and I who I really am. After reviewing my info
and website, the funeral home has agreed to send my info to the
daughter, Cindy MILLER. Now I wait to hear from her.
I may wait a long time. Who knows what her father thought of his
father? Who knows what, if any, relationship they had? Who knows if
her father even knew of my presence in this world? Who knows if she
even cares? I hope to know and I hope to meet her.
It's time for going back to the basics. The basics of knowing your
roots- both living and dead.