Sunday May 17, 2020

I wished I’d asked more questions.

After my mother’s death it occurred to me that I never asked enough questions about my family history. I am the descendant of 3 immigrant grandparents with a paternal grandmother whose lineage goes back to the Mayflower. I know little about my mother’s parents and their extended families. I never knew my maternal grandfather; he died when my mother was a child. I was very close to my maternal grandmother who died when I was 25 years old, at a time when I was focused more on my career development than family history. This is of course ironic since as a museum professional I made a career out of collecting and recording OTHER people’s history.

I had my second chance to gather some of their information via my mother and I lost that opportunity when she died after a 6 month battle with pancreatic cancer. It happened so fast that I wasn’t really thinking clearly about holes in the family history database. I did talk with her and ask questions while she was under Hospice care but it was too late. I later asked my father but he didn’t have the answers. I missed my opportunity to learn more about my mother’s side of the family.

What I do know is that my maternal grandparents emigrated from Eastern Europe to the USA via Ellis Island at different times. My grandfather emigrated in 1913 and naturalized in 1921. My grandfather was educated and bi-lingual. He was a Tool & Dye Maker who worked for Erickson Tools in Chicago and did watch repair on the side. He remained employed during the Depression. I was told he was very proud of his Western Ukrainian heritage.

My grandmother came to this country as an adult in 1929. She grew up in a horrific time; left alone in Eastern Europe to raise herself at age 4. What she knew she learned from life lessons. When she entered the United States she was approximately 18 years old (a guesstimate because she did not have a birth certificate) and she did not speak English. She could not read or write in her own language. She never had the opportunity to go to school.

She was a big influence in my life when I was growing up. I like to think that I have some of her strength. I wish I knew more about her personal story and her life with my grandfather. Her illiteracy meant that she kept no written record of her past or her family. She was estranged from her father who died in 1919 in Eastern Europe and her mother who had left her behind in 1911 but later sponsored her entrance into the US. My maternal great grandmother died when I was 5. I have no memories of meeting her. Even though they only lived two blocks apart, my mother told me she only saw her grandmother a few times while growing up. Apparently my grandmother never forgave her mother for their past history.

She also was not willing to discuss her past with us when we were children. My grandmother was very protective of us and belonged to the generation who felt it important to move on and assimilate. She did not want us to learn or speak Ukrainian. She was very proud that she/we lived in the US and used to tell us, “be happy you live in the United States, get an education, Europe is an evil place.” That was her mantra. I heard that statement numerous times while growing up. Because my grandmother was illiterate she never naturalized to formally became a US citizen. She couldn’t take the test. So once here, she never left the country. She was afraid immigration wouldn’t let her back in when she returned.

My grandfather was the love of my grandmother’s life. We believe he was 16 years her senior. Together they had one child. He died of lung cancer at age 51. Widowed when my mother was just 5 years old, my grandmother later remarried and then co-habititated, outliving a total of 3 men.

The third and last man in her life was her common-law husband Steve. My grandmother was a progressive woman who defended her independence when my mother would accuse her of “living in sin.” Steve was the man I knew as a grandfather figure during my childhood. He too was Ukrainian, emigrating to the US in 1959. He was a professional tailor who had survived the concentration camps. Only once did my sister and I see his tattoo. My grandmother shut that conversation down.

My grandmother was a very strong woman who survived many life challenges. I remember walking to the bank with her as a child and her saying, “I may not be able to read or write but I KNOW how to count money.” She emphasized the importance of self-sufficiency (which she equated with getting an education). She knew from personal experience that life brought no guarantees. I was enamored with her.

Because I never met my biological grandfather I didn’t think to ask questions. I now regret that lack of foresight. My sisters and I know literally nothing about his family. Whether or not he had any siblings or surviving relatives. All that remains are a few personal items, a stack of love letters and some unlabeled photographs that my grandmother saved. The letters predate their marriage and were from Ukrainian women offering to relocate and be his bride. I often wondered if my grandmother ever knew what was in the letters. She hung onto them because they were his. Someday I will get them fully transcribed.

My point is, I should have gotten the information from the source when I had the opportunity. Valuable information embellished with all the stories that make life interesting and bind families together. As my grandmother aged she started to share snippets of information. She was just starting to talk before she unexpectedly died, but I hadn’t been ready to listen. I realize I can do research and cobble together some of the story and possibly locate some distant relatives. I understand there were some in Canada. But it’s not the same and there can be discrepancies in online resources. It’s also not as personally relevant or punctuated with life’s colorful experiences.

Moral of the story: don’t wait. Have those conversations before it’s too late and label those photographs. #learnyourfamilyhistory #everyonehasastory #familyhistorymatters #ukranianheritage #oralhistory

Lead photo caption: me as a toddler on my mother’s lap.

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