HEALING WITH HISTORY

The family we live in has been together for many generations and we are just the most recent members.  When we look at one another, we see the products of centuries of love.  Today’s Gifts-Daily Meditations for Families (Hazelden Publishing)

After I received the letter from my father that had been safeguarded in West Virginia by Emily Sue Buckberry for 40 years—as told in the story The Letter— I knew I needed to find out more about him.  I had to probe the things he revealed to me in his letter—a depression in his childhood, a fanatical religious mother he couldn’t reason with, a war that he wouldn’t talk about. What happened to him? Why didn’t he think he was successful? Why did he choose to die by suicide?  So many questions. But I wasn’t ready to delve into those—not even close. I’d spent the last thirty-eight years doing my best to forget him—running away hard from his memory.  It’s not that easy to change course.

*
*
So I started with someone easier—my grandfather, Vernon Drury Case—the man I was named after. Although I’ve always gone by Casey, by real name is Vernon Case Gauntt.  Next to my dad, Vern Case is the man who had the biggest influence on my life.  Not only do I carry on his name, but most of the family say we look alike, especially as I’ve grown older. And thanks to Vern’s only son, Stan, his wife Joan, and Vern’s daughter, my mom, Barbara, a lot of work had already been done running down the family histories and collecting the photographs and stories that make up the family lore.
*
*
Vern Case was one of those ‘bigger-than-life’ kind of guys, and I had always been fascinated by how this man emerged from abject poverty with barely a 7th grade education to become one of the most successful foundation contractors in the country. I really enjoyed writing about him, and it was good practice for the heavy lifting that was looming before me with my father.

I also found it very healing to delve deeper into where I came from, retrace the steps of my ancestors back to Scotland, and look across generations upon generations of my clan. It’s hard to explain, but as I was pulling his story together, I began to feel more grounded and calm. It was as though an anchor spilled out of my rudderless ship floundering in the turbulent sea and found the ocean floor. I was by no means out of the storm, but neither was I completely out of control.
*
*
I didn’t feel so alone with my losses. I realized I wasn’t the only one in my family to have suffered the loss of a child or disappointment with a parent. Far from it.  Every one of the generations that preceded mine had suffered mightily and had hard lives. No one was spared or ‘got a pass.’ I took some strange comfort from the fact that I hadn’t been singled out for the tragedies I’d been dealt. And even though, other than Uncle Stan, they are now all dead, having done this work I feel surrounded, supported and loved by my ancestors. As I said, it’s hard to explain.
*
*
Here is the link to the story of Vern Case I wrote nine months after we lost our son, Jimmy.

Vern Case Story

Dad, Casey and Vern