(Note: I wrote this blog post about four months ago but never posted it. I'm not quite sure why not.)
One of my favorite things about family history is the way that it brings living family together. And let me tell you, it was a family history weekend. (I'll warn you right now - this is going to be a long post but there is a theme that runs through it all. I hope you catch the rhythm of it. And if not, I'll see if I can insert some pictures to break it up a little.)
Friday, I drove the eleven hours from my home in Utah down to San Diego. I picked my dad up at the airport and we headed to my uncle's house. Three of their grown children, one with spouse, were there in addition to my aunt and uncle. We got there around 11:00 pm and could hear them from the street when we pulled up. Several hours of fun discussions and crazy debate later, we headed to bed.
Saturday, my cousin's wedding day, I was rudely awakened by the high school marching band practicing in the field next to the house. But, it was good to be up early as more cousins and their children descended on the house for breakfast. My youngest cousin came home from a sleepover and everyone wished her a happy birthday. Following breakfast and some wedding preparations, I whisked her and her best friend off for a mani/pedi. I am the oldest cousin and she is the youngest and there are 19 years between us. We share a unique relationship. I adore her and she is growing into a great young woman. I invited her to come spend a few weeks with me next summer and hope she will take me up on the offer.
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| Becca and I about ten years ago at a family reunion. |
The afternoon and evening were filled with the wedding and a reception for my cousin Kasey and his bride, Aubree. I got to hang out with my dad and my aunt, Rhonda. We talked and laughed and enjoyed our time together with several of my cousins and their spouses and children. One even used the occasion to announce that she is ten weeks pregnant with her second child. When we had had as much fun as we could handle we headed from San Diego up to Los Angeles to see my grandmother.
"Ma" is 88 years old. We got to her house just after 11:00 p.m. She was waiting up for us. No early night that evening either. But, I love my grandma. I love her stories. I love her sense of humor. I love how much she loves my dad. And I love all of that more than I love sleep, apparently.
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| Ma feeding bananas to my adorable niece |
Sunday morning after a client meeting in the area, I went to church in Santa Monica then realized I had some free time before meeting with another genealogy client in Bel Air. I knew that my great-grandparents built a house in Santa Monica in the 1920s. My grandfather and his sisters were raised in that house. My dad and his siblings spent a lot of time at grandma's house growing up. And even I, as a small child, visited Grandma Cowan there several times before her death in 1975. I recently inherited her photo albums, including pictures of the house while it was under construction. So, I thought it might be neat to get a few pictures of the house as it looks now.


I didn't have the address with me but knew the major cross streets. It took a few wrong turns and slow driving up and down streets but I finally found it. I intended to just hop out, take a few pictures and be on my way. But, figured I better see if anyone was home and ask permission in case they noticed some odd woman photographing their house and became concerned.
The woman who answered the door was thrilled to meet me. I showed her the construction pictures. We found a few interior shots among my scanned photographs and compared them against the current structural elements and interior design of the home. She graciously took the time to show me around so I could see some of the restoration and remodeling work she has done. She has done a beautiful job maintaining the integrity of this gorgeous, old, 1920s bungalow home.
While there I shared a couple favorite stories that have been shared in our family by my dad and his siblings about Grandma's House. This gracious woman invited me to bring my father and anyone else who might be interested to come see the house as it is now and share their memories with her. We definitely will do that the next time we are in town.
It really was a delightful afternoon. I am so happy to see this home lived in and loved by someone who appreciates the history of it.
The rest of the day was spent with my dad and grandma and a couple of aunts. We had our standard Taco Sunday dinner. I shared my adventures of the afternoon. We laughed over shared memories and tales from our individual lives. And, of course, my grandmother told her stories - all of which we have heard before, but none of which she shared repeatedly in the same evening. (And if you know her, you know that is a BIG deal.)
Another late night led to another groggy morning. Only Monday morning meant a long drive home. So, lots of prayers were offered that I would get home safely and lots of Mountain Dew was consumed to see that become a reality. Along the way I made a few stops, essentially turning a 10 hour drive into a 14 hour adventure.
My grandmother is the oldest of five children. Two of her brothers passed away years ago. Her two remaining siblings, and one sister-in-law, all live on the I-15 route home. So, I stopped at Uncle Don's house in Las Vegas. But, he wasn't home. That always makes me sad because I enjoy seeing him so much. Next I stopped at my Aunt Karma's house in St George. But, she wasn't home either. I would have liked to have seen her but had just spent a little time with her the previous Saturday so I didn't wait around too long. My final stop was at the house of my grandmother's only sister, Erma, in Cedar City.
Erma has long been like another grandmother to me. She and her husband used to travel quite a bit with my grandparents. And, since we rarely lived near my grandparents, Winn and Erm were with them on many occasions when they would come to see us.
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| Winn and Erma with my grandparents on a trip to Oregon |
On Saturday we received word that Erma would not live through Monday. My grandmother is unable to travel and Erma was not able to talk on the phone for more than a minute or two. So, I went as my grandma's proxy (and my father's and my aunt's) to give this beloved woman our love. Even though it was almost 9:00 at night, her home was filled with her children, many of her grandchildren, and several of her great-grandchildren. I love these cousins of mine and was so happy with the peace that filled that home as they gathered around Erma in her final days of life.
I was able to sit with her for ten or fifteen minutes, holding her hand and feeding her ice chips. I shared our love. I told her a few of my grandma's stories about the two of them growing up and she laughed, however weakly. With labored breathing she shared her excitement to see her husband and her parents again. I told her how close I have always felt to them even though her mother died long before I was born. I reminded her that I live in the town her mom was born in and how her grandparents are buried in the cemetery near my house.
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Back row: Victor Mulliner and Mary Heaps Mulliner with Wally Heaps
Front Row: Doris and Erma Mulliner |
When Erma drifted asleep, I kissed her forehead and told her how much I love her. She opened her eyes and returned the sentiment. I asked her to say hello to my grandpa for me when she gets to the other side. She said she would and I said goodbye and hummed a bar of "God Be With You 'Til We Meet Again."
I spent a little more time there at the house with these cousins. I reminded my dad's cousin, Tim, that he and his wife are the reason my parents met. Then we shared the story with the others assembled there. I met the family of a second cousin I barely know and was so impressed with his small children, up at this late hour, well-behaved and willing to share, with a room full of adults, their parts from the Primary program of the day before, including a verse of a song they sang. I inquired after those who weren't there and got caught up on all the goings on in the life of this large, busy, faith-filled family.
I left and drove the remaining three hours home, exhausted but filled with peace and joy and love. I thought a lot about my grandmother's parents and grandparents on that drive up through the mountains to the place they were born and raised - a place I now live, though a few generations removed. I have come to know and love them through the genealogy research I have done into their lives, through the stories my grandmother has shared with me my whole life, through pictures and memories and the faces of those I call family.
As I spent time with much of their posterity over the past four days, I have wondered if they are near. Are they proud of us? Do they know how much we love them and how grateful we are to them for the legacy they created for us with their own lives? We are far from perfect, individually and collectively. But, we love each other and we support each other, we challenge each other and push each other, and, I hope, we build and lift and comfort and inspire.
As I moved from announcements of new life to the beginning of a new family to a farewell at death's door with loved ones this weekend, I was reminded of why I am so in love with my family - all of them, whether I know them well or not. It is where my life starts and ends. And, I am convinced, it is partly because of my involvement in family history research. My heart has been turned to my family not just of the past, but here and now as well.
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| Heaps Family Reunion Summer 2000 |