Tony's combination of discipline, religious devotion, and a doctorate in Computer Science, have all combined to make him an amateur genealogist-- a seeker of family members found across time and place. This search transports Tony back to 16th century Spain, to modern Spain, and to genealogical libraries filled with microfilms, ancient priest and parish records, all revealing secrets from the past, all adding limbs to his extensive family tree.
His adventure has exposed me to stories and feelings unexpected. I will never forget the night he discovered the Basque people (his grandmother's heritage from Northern Spain), had put all of their genealogical records in an online database. His tiny study felt like it was filled with centuries of people who'd congregated for a long overdue family reunion.
His interest has brought sadness too. After finding birth and death records, after putting together a family, he will often walk from his study and give me the sad news of a family who lived in the late 1700s or 1800s and lost children to death. On Christmas morning, he entered the kitchen and said, "I just found a family whose two year old died in August, their seven year old in September, and in November, they lost their four day old baby girl. They had one living child."
Their loss is unfathomable, and on giving and hearing the sad news, we both weep as we are reminded of how blessed we've been to have known health among our children, to have raised each one to adulthood. A shadow overpowers us as we think of friends' grandchildren who have died from disease and accidents; we are not immune from the natural course of life, from the painful sting of losing a child.
Since it was Christmas morning, the three deaths reminded me of our Christmas tree purchased at an annual fundraiser for Primary Children's Hospital. After winning the bid for our tree, we lingered long enough to meet the decorators, to hear their story. The tree was created by three women, bound together by friendship, and later by the death of their own children. Three friends, each one lost a child. The memory, the spirit, of those three children, brings meaning to our Christmas tree that lights our window, our home...and deepens our appreciation for the children who light our lives.
His adventure has exposed me to stories and feelings unexpected. I will never forget the night he discovered the Basque people (his grandmother's heritage from Northern Spain), had put all of their genealogical records in an online database. His tiny study felt like it was filled with centuries of people who'd congregated for a long overdue family reunion.
One of Tony's extensive family tree branches
Their loss is unfathomable, and on giving and hearing the sad news, we both weep as we are reminded of how blessed we've been to have known health among our children, to have raised each one to adulthood. A shadow overpowers us as we think of friends' grandchildren who have died from disease and accidents; we are not immune from the natural course of life, from the painful sting of losing a child.
Since it was Christmas morning, the three deaths reminded me of our Christmas tree purchased at an annual fundraiser for Primary Children's Hospital. After winning the bid for our tree, we lingered long enough to meet the decorators, to hear their story. The tree was created by three women, bound together by friendship, and later by the death of their own children. Three friends, each one lost a child. The memory, the spirit, of those three children, brings meaning to our Christmas tree that lights our window, our home...and deepens our appreciation for the children who light our lives.
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