Your story resonated with me. I have had a positive experience with memoir writing:
The doctors told Uncle Joe he had weeks, not months, to live. He’d been one of our legal guardians when my father sent us from Toronto - me, my older brothers and sister that is - to boarding school in England. He was in hospital when my two brothers flew to see him, one from California, the other from France, while my sister drove up from Wales where she lives. I remained in Toronto but arranged a video call through his daughter Nadia.
Joe looked paler and bonier but possessed the same benign expression and intelligent brown eyes I remembered. Sometimes he had to rest his arm, and then I saw only the top of his knobbly bald head.
“I’ve had a good life. I’ve no regrets,” he said. “Now it’s time to go,”
“I love you, Uncle Joe,” I told him
“Good bye, my love.”
That would have been it, except that as part of my attempt at memoir, I’d written a story about him driving us four kids up to Wennington, the boarding school we went to in Yorkshire, where he introduced us to the appropriately barmy headmaster. I emailed the account to Nadia who read it aloud to my uncle. My two brothers told me after that the story made up for my absence.
“Joe cried when he heard it,” Nadia said later, “and you have to understand, Lucie, my father never, ever cries! He thought it was brilliant.”
I felt then my memoir writing had served a valuable purpose.
It’s remarkable how certain sights and sounds stay with us. Every single train whistle I hear transports me back to a memorable childhood visit with my grandparents.
I thoroughly enjoyed Angelo’s story. It reminded me of the impact of early childhood experiences on our adult lives. Most often we don’t think about them but they have helped shape who we are.
It’s funny because I don’t believe in fate exactly but it’s hard not to notice when you think about writing about family, and you do it but sit on it for years and years, and then you decide well, I’m 50 now, so.
Loved this. It’s what I think when I’ve had a good sleep (not as often as would be ideal), and mitigates the rest of the time when I didn’t. 💕
Kristen, I'm so glad this post arrived at a good time for you. Figuring out what bits of family story to tell, and when, feels like ongoing work for me, but the thought-journey and conversations have definitely been worthwhile. I just got up the nerve to send my uncles this essay today. :)
Hi Becky,
Your story resonated with me. I have had a positive experience with memoir writing:
The doctors told Uncle Joe he had weeks, not months, to live. He’d been one of our legal guardians when my father sent us from Toronto - me, my older brothers and sister that is - to boarding school in England. He was in hospital when my two brothers flew to see him, one from California, the other from France, while my sister drove up from Wales where she lives. I remained in Toronto but arranged a video call through his daughter Nadia.
Joe looked paler and bonier but possessed the same benign expression and intelligent brown eyes I remembered. Sometimes he had to rest his arm, and then I saw only the top of his knobbly bald head.
“I’ve had a good life. I’ve no regrets,” he said. “Now it’s time to go,”
“I love you, Uncle Joe,” I told him
“Good bye, my love.”
That would have been it, except that as part of my attempt at memoir, I’d written a story about him driving us four kids up to Wennington, the boarding school we went to in Yorkshire, where he introduced us to the appropriately barmy headmaster. I emailed the account to Nadia who read it aloud to my uncle. My two brothers told me after that the story made up for my absence.
“Joe cried when he heard it,” Nadia said later, “and you have to understand, Lucie, my father never, ever cries! He thought it was brilliant.”
I felt then my memoir writing had served a valuable purpose.
Becky, thank you for your help with my efforts.
All the best,
Lucie
Lucie, this is a beautiful example of the power of sharing memories (and memoirs) with family. Thanks so much for sharing it with us!
Than you, Becky. I’m enjoying your blog.
Oh Becky
I love this story of family
So important
You are a magnificent!!!
I loved Angelo’s essay!
It’s remarkable how certain sights and sounds stay with us. Every single train whistle I hear transports me back to a memorable childhood visit with my grandparents.
Interesting...perhaps that "memorable childhood visit" might be a good story to write about? I know I would love to read it!
I thoroughly enjoyed Angelo’s story. It reminded me of the impact of early childhood experiences on our adult lives. Most often we don’t think about them but they have helped shape who we are.
It’s funny because I don’t believe in fate exactly but it’s hard not to notice when you think about writing about family, and you do it but sit on it for years and years, and then you decide well, I’m 50 now, so.
Loved this. It’s what I think when I’ve had a good sleep (not as often as would be ideal), and mitigates the rest of the time when I didn’t. 💕
Kristen, I'm so glad this post arrived at a good time for you. Figuring out what bits of family story to tell, and when, feels like ongoing work for me, but the thought-journey and conversations have definitely been worthwhile. I just got up the nerve to send my uncles this essay today. :)