I find a grandmother

My dad’s mother died when he was 17 years old; she was a few months shy of her 51st birthday. The only thing my brother or I remember him saying about her was that she was a good cook.

But that was my dad; he didn’t talk about his feelings. I tried to get him to talk about my mother’s passing, more than 10 years later, and all he could say was, choking up, “I miss her.” I can only imagine the emotion of losing your own mother at that age.

I found a picture of Frances Mary Ryszczynski Bluhm (1890-1941) online the other day. I’m pretty sure I had never seen her before. It was fascinating to see my eyes staring back at me. I’m not sure which of her five children is in her lap, but that child sure looks startled about something, perhaps everything.

I dug a little deeper and learned that my father’s grandparents were Otto Herman Bluhm (1858-1936) and Auguste Henriette Prange Bluhm (1865-1935), and Francis Xavier Ryszczynski (1844-1921) and Clara Gebmann Ryszczynski (1852-1898). And now I realize I don’t know the names of my mother’s grandparents, my maternal great-grandparents, just as I didn’t know my paternal great-grandparents’ names until a few days ago.

(The name Prange means a great deal in the history of Wisconsin retail business; I wonder if I’m a distant relative of that family.)

It turns out my grandfather had an older brother who died at age 15. I can imagine how that may have had an impact on his life decisions. Given those times, did he feel an obligation to have more children after she bore him three daughters, to try to continue the family name with their fourth- and fifth-born, who were both sons? (My father, like my mother, was the baby of the family.)

Did he call her Fran? Or being the stern, stoic German who had his grandchildren call him “Grandfather,” was she always Frances?

I think of these names and dates and all the life experiences they represent. These were real people who led real lives, and I am part of the evidence they left behind. And I am not the first person to wish I had asked more questions about my forebears while people who knew the answers were still here. 

In this season of thanksgiving, I am grateful for their lives and their love.