Almost an Ancestor

(catch of the day, circa 1962, I’m the one in the teal shirt looking at my fishy hands. There are three generations in the picture)

Michael and I visited Oregon Health and Science University (OHSU) on Presidents Day to meet our first grandchild. OHSU is perched on a hill and you reach it by chugging up a skinny, winding two-lane road. Like most teaching hospitals, it just adds new buildings and walkways whenever it runs out of space. It’s hell to find anything up there, much less one tiny newborn. We walked around looking confused and hoping not to enter an operating theater accidentally.

And then there she was on the 13th floor of the Kohler Building, looking wise beyond her 0 years and feeling like a firm little packet of babyhood in my arms. My son and daughter-in-law looked dazed, confused, and ever so happy.

Was it the disorientation, the presence of the infant descendant not yet named, or all the love in the room that made me feel the presence of my ancestors? It was natural to imagine my mother in this hospital suite with her great-granddaughter. I could see my father making a joke and just being happy. He was good at bringing celebration into any room.

After my parents died, I began to notice how much they rode around with me, taking in the scene. They aren’t a judgmental crowd; they’re just interested in the living and what is coming next. They seem to be there for me as a little chorus saying, “Oh, look at that.” I am not very mystical, so I imagine a whole chunk of my brain must be devoted to knowing them. And it wants some exercise sometimes.

In our culture, ancestors are distant in time. You document them through ancestry.com and find out on which boat they came over. I’ve always felt that type of interest was about genetics and cultural lineage. When I think of my ancestors, it comes in the form of the recent dead who are more interested in family connection. They show up when emotion is in the room and some unique link is being forged. I told a dinner table full of my descendants that I was surprised by how often I thought of my parents. When I said it, I realized I was seeking reassurance that I wasn’t a weird outlier. One of my sons said, “I think of them almost daily,” and I felt reassured.

Whenever I sense our culture may judge me, I try to pay attention. I had that feeling when I had children. I knew I was supposed to love them but that much! I remember thinking, ‘why are all the songs about romantic love. Why aren’t we singing about our children?’ I also felt unspoken judgement when I cared for my mother at the end of her life. It was hard sometimes, and like most of us, I complained. But I enjoyed caring for her. I knew better than to say that part out loud very often. I think our culture wants us to be ambitious, autonomous individuals. We should be willing to break ties, not reinforce them.

Having my parents so everpresent gives me a sense of myself as a future ancestor. Death doesn’t seem to have as firm a boundary when my parents are riding around in my head all the time. It comforts me to think that I will be riding around in my sons’ heads for a long time after I die, and probably in my granddaughter’s head.

I am feeling my way into this new territory of old age, memory —and ancestors. I have occasionally borrowed Mexico’s tradition of a Day of the Dead altar. The Mexican altars feel friendly and family-oriented. My family and I built an altar during COVID after my brother died. We had a ceremony wearing N95 masks and ate delicious homemade Pan de Muerto. We lit candles, put brother David’s favorite beverage, Kombucha, on the altar, and talked about the dead whose pictures decorated the altar spaces. So many uncles and aunts, so many grandparents. We did it again when my friend Teresa died unexpectedly. This time friends were sprinkled in with my family ancestors. It’s still sad. It’s hard to let them go. It’s easier when you visit them once in a while.

Julia, my new granddaughter, makes becoming an ancestor, or my new state of being almost an ancestor, a little more acceptable. I hope we make some good memories together so she feels comfortable when she hears my voice in her head saying, “Oh, look at that. And that, and that!”