say hello to my sister
A simple statement can be so sad.
Those were the last words my dad said to me before he left our home after we gathered to celebrate Father's Day. The next day, I was off to Norway for a month. That statement sounds so basic, but there is a great deal of depth behind it. It choked me up. You see, his sister is his only sibling left, and he may never see her again; that's hard to swallow. The thought of this separation weighs heavily on his heart. This type of loss is neither common nor uncommon, but it is indeed a sad occurrence.
My dad, the youngest of seven children, is now separated from his only surviving sibling by an ocean. The passing of his brother in February has left the two youngest on two different continents, facing significant challenges. The mind may be a willing participant, but the body may be lagging. Yet, in the face of such adversity, our family's resilience shines through, inspiring us all.
I have spent some time delving into my family history, and it was very common for families to part and never see each other again.
Many of my parent's families left Norway to seek a better life in America. Children left parents and siblings, and especially in the early part of the twentieth century, they never went back. It's not like today when we can hop on a plane and be back in a matter of a few hours. For them, it was a long, rough trip via ship, and they often endured hardships along the way as they crossed the cold and dark Atlantic Ocean. Yet, they persevered, and their resilience is a testament to the human spirit. Perseverance is the consequence of heartache and separation. However, that doesn't mean there wasn't great pain behind the heroic perseverance. They awaited letters in the mail and eventually a rare phone call, probably around Christmas or another special occasion. Separation was truly separation, unlike today, as I FaceTimed with my grandson, Leif, earlier this afternoon. It was like I was right there as we played peekaboo over the phone. Just like prior generations, we were parted by an ocean, but modern technology allowed me to participate in his day- albeit no substitute for actually being together. And, I will see him again- Lord willing.
I can't imagine watching my children leave for another country with the foreknowledge of knowing- this was it. They're gone forever. Never to see, touch, hug, or share a meal at the table. Heartbreaking, right? I'm choked up all over again as I write these words.
It amazes me how much pain and suffering we humans can experience. I'm a weakling- I don't know how I'd survive saying goodbye—the thought of such a permanent separation. Imagine never being able to see or hold a loved one again, a fear that haunts me. It serves as a poignant reminder of our vulnerability and the fragility of life.
It's a poignant reminder to be thankful for all those moments you share with your loved ones. I feel incredibly fortunate to have had opportunities to spend time with relatives both near and far. It is never with regret that I spend time with loved ones. Even if the moments aren't anything special, they're still essential for establishing connections and forming relationships. These moments are precious, and we should cherish them always, for they are the threads that bind us together.
So, I will visit with my Tante and pass the message from my dad to her. It will cause me to cry, I am certain, as we exchange greetings and recognize the loss of her beloved husband (a second uncle), who died last December. I will be the messenger, the bearer of greeting on behalf of my dad.
Since I wrote this and never published it, the family reunion took place. Yesterday, we gathered at my cousin's summer home, which was built on the site where our ancestors once lived and called their home. I don't know exactly how many we were. Hopefully, someone counted, but I know there were five generations of family meeting under one roof, discussing and reminiscing about those who went before us.
We spent hours in small groups, going from one person to the next, engaging in conversations that likely reflected on shared relatives and relationships. It was a wonderful afternoon, and it was powerful knowing that we all value the importance of family and remembering together.
There are fewer and fewer counterparts that can clarify or embark on a story, so we have to do our best to discuss, write down, and share what we know, and hopefully, there will always be someone who is curious about their ancestors and where they lived, what they endured and how it leads to them.
There is no way of knowing how long these family reunions will continue. I can be sad to think that they will end with my generation, and yet, there is hope. There are other ways to connect, become acquainted, and even get to know someone you've never met through various forms of media.
As I reflect on yesterday and the many memories I have stored in my mind and buried deep in my heart, I am grateful for the opportunity to gather, share, and continue forming relationships with my relatives and the generations that follow. Our differences don’t matter, just that we are family.
The corner shelf was made by my great-grandfather, Tobias Hansen, Osteland, Lyngdal Norway. He died in 1922. The picture on the table is his wife, my great-grandmother, Berte Reinertsen-Hansen.
The old school house where my dad and his siblings, and children from the neighboring farms went to school.
My grandparents home.
Us now
