Réflexions sur la perte et le deuil

 

Réflexions sur la perte et le deuil

La perte est un compagnon tout au long de la vie. Dans l'ordre des choses plein d'espoir, les pertes de notre jeunesse sont moins importantes ; le bris d'un jouet préféré, un vélo volé ou un ami s'éloigne. À mesure que nous vieillissons, les pertes peuvent être plus importantes pour nous; la perte d'un emploi, d'une maison ou d'une relation, et le pire de toutes les pertes, celles de ceux que nous aimons.

Habituellement, cela commence avec la génération qui nous précède, comme les grands-parents; occasionnellement un ou deux de notre propre génération, et j'espère jamais, un de la génération qui nous suit. Peu à peu, à la suite de ces pertes, le chagrin devient une présence familière, bien que malvenue.

Maintenant que je suis un peu au nord de 60, je sais ce que c'est que d'enterrer mes grands-parents, tantes et oncles, et malheureusement, deux frères et sœurs dans ma propre famille. Le mois dernier, à seulement une semaine d'intervalle, le jumeau de mon mari est décédé de façon inattendue, puis ma chère belle-mère. Nous attendions la fin des traitements douloureux dont souffrait le frère de mon mari pour un cancer, et avions beaucoup d'espoir pour sa guérison. Nous avons été bouleversés d'apprendre son hospitalisation pour une infection, mais pas inquiets. Que ce ne soit pas le résultat était plus que choquant. Aucun dernier mot, aucun au revoir, aucune assurance d'amour ne pouvait être donnée.

Ma belle-mère avait 99 ans. Quand les gens entendent cela, ils disent : "Eh bien, elle a eu une belle et longue vie" ou "N'as-tu pas de la chance de l'avoir depuis si longtemps". Il est clair que ces deux choses sont vraies. était indomptable. Elle allait vivre jusqu'à 100 ans. Nous pensions qu'elle serait toujours là. Il semble cependant que la mort d'un autre fils était juste plus que ce pour quoi elle avait de l'endurance. Nous l'avons vue disparaître sous nos yeux. "Je n'aurais jamais imaginé que je serais à ses côtés quand elle a rendu son dernier souffle. Nous vivons en Ontario et elle a toujours vécu au Québec. Nous avons toujours redouté qu'un jour nous recevions ce coup de téléphone. Qui pourrait imaginer que la mort d'un un être cher nous placerait au Québec pour assister au décès d'un autre être cher et comment peut-on être reconnaissant d'une telle circonstance.

Ces sentiments, ce chagrin, si accablants que parfois votre esprit repousse si fortement sa présence que vous ne ressentez absolument rien pendant des instants à la fois. Alors, comme le rivage de l'océan, vous sentez les vagues marteler contre vous, sans fin, inexorables. Parfois comme un tsunami, si énorme et engloutissant que vous sentez que vous ne respirerez plus jamais, puis parfois un clapotis plus doux contre le sable, pas si destructeur mais vous sentez toujours sa présence. Vous réalisez la myriade de façons dont vous étiez connecté à ceux qui ne sont plus là parce que tout maintenant vous les rappelle d'une manière ou d'une autre ; une chanson, une photo, un lieu, une petite habitude. Et chacune de ces choses souligne douloureusement le fait que vous ne pourrez plus jamais partager aucune de ces choses ensemble.

Et parfois... vous vous demandez si vous pouvez y survivre.

Mais toi si.

J'ai pensé qu'il y avait plus qu'une pointe d'ironie dans le fait que mon mari ait passé un examen médical chez son cardiologue quelques jours seulement après notre retour à la maison. J'ai dit : 'Le médecin pourrait-il voir que votre cœur était brisé ?'. Ce n'est pas toujours quelque chose que vous pouvez voir à moins que vous ne regardiez de très près.

Mais tout comme les vagues océaniques implacables changent le rivage, nous sommes secoués et changés par la perte. Toujours. Nous ne sommes plus la même personne. Des morceaux de nous manquent; les pièces sont réarrangées. Mais lentement, au fil du temps et chacun à notre rythme, nous trouvons une nouvelle voie. Je n'ai pas perdu mon compagnon de vie; mon esprit rechigne complètement à cette pensée. Ma belle-sœur n'acceptera pas facilement cette nouvelle vie vide de sa personne la plus précieuse. J'ai maintenant perdu une autre mère et je me sens profondément orpheline. Mon mari a perdu son jumeau et sa mère à la fois. Le deuil est une route désespérément solitaire et solitaire, même lorsque nous la parcourons avec d'autres. Vous devez faire votre propre paix avec elle.

Il y a cependant un certain réconfort dans l'expression du chagrin ; dans le partage de souvenirs, de larmes, d'un câlin. Souvent, il n'y a pas de mots pour exprimer ce que nous ressentons ou qui peuvent réconforter; seul le contact d'une autre main en compagnie peut le faire.

Et c'est peut-être la seule façon de survivre.

Thoughts on Loss and Grief

 

Loss is a companion through life. In the hopeful scheme of things, the losses of our youth are less significant; the breaking of a favorite toy, a stolen bicycle or a friend moves away. As we grow older the losses can be more significant to us; the loss of a job or home or a relationship, and then worst of all losses, those of the ones we love. 

Usually it begins with the generation before us like grandparents; occasionally one or two of our own generation, and hopefully never, one of the generation following us. Gradually, as a result these losses, grief becomes a familiar, though unwelcome, presence.

Now that I am a little ways north of 60, I know what it is like to bury my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and sadly, two siblings in my own family. This past month, just a week apart, my husband's twin passed unexpectedly and then my dear mother-in-law. We were waiting for the end of the painful treatments that my husband's brother was suffering  for cancer, and were very hopeful for his recovery. We were upset to hear of his hospitalization for an infection, yet not worried. That this was not the outcome was beyond shocking. No last words, no goodbye, no reassurance of love could be given.

My mother-in-law was 99. When people hear this they say, "Well she had a good, long life" or Aren't you fortunate to have had her for so long". Clearly both these things are true. Yet she was indomitable. She was going to live to be 100. We thought that she would just always be there. It seems though that the death of yet another son was just more than she had stamina for. We watched her disappear before our very eyes. I never imagined that I would be at her side when she took that last breath. We live in Ontario and she has always lived in Quebec. We always dreaded that one day we would get that phone call. Who could imagine that the death of one dear one would place us in Quebec to be present at the death of another dear one and how can one be grateful for such a circumstance. 

These feelings, this grief, so overwhelming that sometimes your mind just repels its presence so strongly that you feel absolutely nothing for moments at a time. Then, like the ocean shoreline, you feel the waves pound against you, unending, inexorable. Sometimes like a tsunami, so huge and engulfing that you feel you will never breath again, then sometimes a more gentle lap against the sand, not so destroying but you you still feel its presence. You realize the myriad of ways that you were connected to those who are no longer here because every thing now reminds you in some way of them; a song, a photo, a place, a tiny habit. And each of those things emphasizes painfully the fact that you will no longer be able to share any of those things together ever again. 

And sometimes... you wonder if you can survive it.

But you do.

I thought there was more than a touch of irony in the fact that my husband had a checkup with his cardiac specialist just days after we returned home. I said, 'Could the doctor see that your heart was broken?". It's not always something that you can see unless you look really closely.

But just as the relentless ocean waves change the shoreline, so are we are buffeted and changed by loss. Forever. We are no longer that same person. Pieces of us are missing; pieces are rearranged. But slowly, over time and each at our own pace, we find a new way forward. I have not lost my life mate; my mind utterly balks at that thought. My sister-in-law will not easily accept this new life empty of her most precious person. I have now lost another mother and feel orphaned in a profound way. My husband has lost his twin and his mother at once. Grief is a desperately lonely and solitary road even when we walk it with along side others. You have to make your own peace with it.

There is however some comfort in the expression of grief; in the sharing of memories, tears, a hug. Many times there are no words to express how we feel or that can comfort; only the touch of another hand in companionship can do that.

And perhaps that is the only way we can survive.

A Sudden Serendipity

 

Whilst I was enjoying my first cup of coffee this morning, I asked Alexa for the day's forecast. She told me it would be 14 and sunny today. As the sun was actually shining outside, I decided that since Alexa would not knowingly lie to me, that it would be the perfect kind of autumn day to head to the forest. (If you don't have an Alexa at your house, she is a magic ball that sits on a chest in my living room and she knows things. She will turn on the light if you ask her and when my four-year grandson said to her the other day, 'Alexa, do something', it turns out she can moo...amazing! Sorry, wandered off the trail there.)

We have had several really dismal days but they brought some much needed rain, so I was hoping to see some woodland fungi friends who have been largely missing in action all summer. The Sudden Forest tract is one of my favorite places to walk and is less than a half hour's drive away. I can take the back roads all the way there which is such a bonus; country scenery and no traffic which makes it okay to do less than the posted speed and sight see. The trees are still rather muted in colour, with more yellows than vivid oranges or reds. The soya bean crops in the fields are ready to be harvested. The corn fields show that this year's crop has struggled.

On my way I paused by this soya field to admire a pair of Sandhill cranes. Their plumage is reverting to the grey tones that they arrive with in the spring. There are only patches now of the russet that they turn when they are nesting here. There was no youngster with this pair so maybe these ones are not old enough to breed yet. They are such a beautiful sight.

I was met at my car by low flying greeters. This lovely red seraphim with its angel wings facing forward might be an Autumn Meadowhawk dragonfly, one of the  three red-bodied Meadowhawks common to this area. It is interesting how many ancient belief systems find the dragonfly symbolic of transformation and adaptability; emerging from life in the water to become graceful creatures of the air, an amazing metamorphosis.  

Lovely things were waiting just along the path...

A bolete mushroom that was clearly tasty,

ancient liverwort fruiting,

a floating frog,

a scorpion-like Pelecinid wasp,

crimson patches in the canopy,

uniquely scarred tree trunks,

a green stink bug in its 4th nymph stage,

and a disgruntled ribbon snake that I came upon it while it was sunning in a warm spot on the path. It reminded me of deer, who when startled run a short ways off then stop to peer at you from that safe distance ...or maybe glare.

On weekdays this is a really quiet place where it is possible to walk without seeing another soul, at least not a two-legged one. On this particular morning I heard voices, and rounding a bend in the path saw three people approaching. I prepared to pass a 'Good Morning' or 'Nice day' and carry on. It was obvious that they were enjoying one another's company and the forest, which I thought was lovely. As I passed several other things clicked; they all had cameras, they were looking at the underside of a log, they may be looking for mushrooms, and one looked really familiar. I decided that it was worth finding out, so I inquired, 'Tony?'

Then the tumblers all fell into place; these were my friends Tony, Rachel and Luke. Why didn't I recognize them? Because we had never met before. In person that is; we are all members of a special interest group on Facebook for those who photograph and study mushrooms, mosses, ferns and lichen. We had admired each others' photos and exchanged comments for several years now. Within this large international group are these three who live relatively close to me in Ontario, so I watched their posts more carefully because we might see some of the same things. 

serendipity

 noun

​the fact of something interesting or pleasant happening by chance; a happy accident

It was liking meeting family...I was so thrilled. I feel that I know Tony a little better as we had spoken more often online. He has such a passion and transparent enthusiasm for the beauty of nature in all its forms. He is always helpful and encouraging and set the tone for my participation in the group. I knew he had mourned the loss of his beloved dog but unexpectedly been adopted by a very special feline and fallen completely in love. I know he does beautiful work as a contractor, loves to camp up north and comes from a big family. As my elderly aunt would say of my late uncle, 'a lovely man'.

I knew less about Luke, but he was always kind, accessible and ready to help. Rachel lives north of Guelph, owns and clearly loves, horses, and struck me as independent, fun and feisty. I was also aware that these three had met several times to explore together. 

We didn't actually visit long, just long enough to enjoy some discoveries together, take and share some photos, and chat a little. It was so wonderful! I found out that Luke is to be married soon and Tony had just returned from a camping trip up north having left some of his heart there. Rachel wanted to know what was on my camera from the day and took a photo of all of us together. 

It was the best surprise to come upon them in this way.

It was a joyful reunion of kindred spirits.

It filled my heart and lifted my spirits.

It was truly a serendipity...a Sudden Serendipity.

Following the beat of....

I watched the Queen's funeral the other day and the procession that took her coffin to the Wellington Arch. Even several days later, the music of the march stayed with me. The scarlet uniforms of the Band of the Grenadier Guards, with their Busby headdresses made of fur were imposing. In the centre of the phalanx of musicians was the drummer whose rhythmic beat set the pace for the thousands of military personnel escorting the Queen to the next step in her last journey, the hearse ride to St George's Chapel in Windsor. The precision was incredible as each set of feet rose and fell at exactly the same time causing a visible gentle sway to the sea of marchers.

 The human sense of rhythm or beat is innate; we can recognize patterns in music without training and without even paying particular attention. Our brain automatically translates these patterns, allowing us not only to clap in time, but to change seamlessly to a different rhythm should the timing change. Interestingly, and totally as an offside, the fact that every human can recognize a musical beat, does not mean that every human can dance to it. Having the proverbial 'two left feet', I can attest to this.

Metronome

This ability begins in the womb with the sound and comfort of your mother's heartbeat. Neuroscientists study how the brain responds to rhythm which in turn affects they way we move and even speak. Further, they look at how music therapies can enhance performance in sports and in those who suffer from the effects of diseases which inhibit movement, like Parkinson's disease.

It had been thought that this was a uniquely human ability, but some scientists have found that rhesus monkeys have the ability 'to maintain a temporal rhythm'. The explanation regarding this, descended into formulas and confusing language well beyond me, and while it is very interesting, I thought that this did not compare to cats, who instead of following or recognizing patterns in time, have the ability to set their own patterns and impose them on humans. 

I wondered what kinds of things set the drum beats that we live our lives by. There are the circadian rhythms; the mental, physical and behavioural changes that generally follow a 24 hour cycle and which are primarily affected by the sun's rising and setting. Since there are 'early birds' and 'nighthawks' in our family, I know that not all body clocks are set the same way, though! It can also be a challenge to encourage your new baby to recognize that night is when Mommy needs to sleep.

Autumn Equinox falls within this week. The movement of the days from season to season is a steady beat to our lives. I think that a lot of people now think of the seasons in terms of comfort or discomfort, whereas at one time the seasons each had tasks upon which your survival depended. Mabon is the Celtic celebration of this equinox, when the day and night hours are equal and when harvest is celebrated. This tradition means it is a time of balance, as well as a time to be grateful. I love the fall with its cooler temperatures and the beauty of the changing leaves, but it is also bittersweet as the the leaves will fall and the cold and bleakness of early nights in November approach just as surely.

Perhaps the drum that beats the loudest on a daily basis is the family. When you are a child, the rhythm of your life is set by your parents and their traditions and beliefs. Should you marry, your life will encompass the rhythm of your husband's work, possibly your own, and then the way that you, together, incorporate the patterns of both your families. Should you have a family of your own, the rhythm changes again to include the needs and schedules of your children. By now life can be more like a symphony with too many, and sometimes opposing, rhythms. It is hard to hear, and then follow, a beat that answers your needs. 

Whilst our days advance at a prescribed pace and the seasons change in turn, life within a family has the most changeable rhythms. When you have babies, the days and nights pass as one, and then come the years of the endless routines of work, school and the celebration of family occasions. Sometimes the drum beat so fast I felt that I could not keep up, but then when my parents died, it seemed as though time stopped. the rhythm of my life up until that time, changed forever.

The rhythm of my life is different now. The frenetic years of child rearing are past and our children have their own families, which includes me, but does not depend on me. So now, instead of living at a run, I now choose to saunter, to wander, to amble...to dawdle. Which suits me just fine.

What's in a name...

 A comment from my son sent me wandering down this particular path. As an amateur genealogist, I have researched the stories connected with thousands of the names within both my family tree and that of my husband. Without a name, there is no history to be found; the dilemma of many people searching for birth families and a sense of place. 

https://www.tmgenealogy.com/2012/07/free-pedigree-charts-and-family-trees.htm

When we named our children we bought books, made lists and asked questions; shall we name ? after a favorite family member or our parents, do we want a name that has a special meaning, is there a tradition we want to follow etc.. Then having decided, we bestow our choice on a small unsuspecting human, who will be called by it each day going forward, learn to print it, and see it on all official documents. Odd that we have no say in this decision which determines so much of our identity.

Grandpa, Grandma and my dad 1910

Early on in my pursuit of the history of my father's family, I worked on the the section for my great grandmother Flora McEachern. My father had a copy of a basic skeleton of the tree and I thought that it would be fairly simple to flesh out this framework. This is when I first became aware of the Scottish traditions for naming.

I soon discovered that this process was not in the least simple. There were no middle names to help differentiate between member of the same name, birth dates were wobbly and varied between documents, and birth order could alter if someone in the line up died and was replaced by another one of the same name. I found 7 Peters, 12 Johns, 9 James, 6 Floras, 9 Archibalds, 12 Marys, and 12 Neils over 2 generations and this didn't include the ones that decided to go by MacEachern instead of McEachern. I guess there were a lot of nicknames to help out at the time, but those don't generally show up in official records. 

This is the left page only of the chart. Peter McEachern married Catherine Currie and the first five of their children are listed horizontally; #1 John, #2 Neil #3 Mary, #4 Archibald & #5 James. John, Neil and Archie all named their 1st son Peter. Check. The 3rd sons should be namesakes. Nope. The 2nd daughters should be named for their mother Catherine. 1 out of 3. This clearly not a reliable pattern, or rather the pattern is not reliably followed in this case. Clearly these Isle of Islay ancestors were not slaves to tradition, at least this one, however there does seem to be a shallow pool of names to choose from.

Lynn's paternal uncle's baptism record; Joseph Alphonse Fernand, son of Josaphat Croteau and Lucienne Genest; godfather Alphonse Genest, grandfather of child

In my husband's paternal line, a different naming tradition was found, that of the French Catholic church. Early in the 1700s the Church Diocese in Quebec determined that only certain names would be acceptable and these would be the names of saints to encourage the child to emulate the virtues of the aforesaid saint. Of the three names  most often given to a child and documented at the time of baptism, the first would be Marie or Joseph. This usually indicated the sex of the recipient. The next name would connect the child to its godparent and the third would be the name the child would be called. Interestingly, my husband's father and 2 uncles were all baptized Joseph Adelard then a third name and in all three cases the godfather's name was Adelard. I often had to find some other document in order to know which of the three name a person actually went by, as it varied.  

Portion of 1922 baptism record of Lynn's father, baptized Joseph Adelard Jean-Louis Croteau. Parrain or godfather, Adelard Senechal

Sometimes names are a clear link to a place and time. In the 1800's in

 Quebec, you might see Medieval French names like Ombeline, Onesime, Adjutor or Esaie. Or names that related to the Church like Hippolyte, Philias, Cleophas, Barthelemy and Desneiges. Or perhaps Chrysostom or Chrysologue. Each of these names are in my husband's family tree.

Chrysologue Labonte married Celina Duval in 1886. They named their children Desire, Gedeon, Diogene, Alexina, Auguste, Calixte and Chrysologue.

At this same time, in New England, you might find Old Testament names, like the minor prophet Amos. There were 12 named Amos in the Bryant tree, along with 3 named Azariah, 6 Asaphs, 4 Ashers, Noahs, Samuels and of course great grandfather Moses Steven Bryant who named his son Stephen Moses. There are 13 men named Moses in the tree, but I guess Grandpa Bryant was not enamored enough with the name to pass it on to any of his sons.

Moses S Bryant - Bryant Cemetery

The Puritans brought a unique naming tradition to America. Generally speaking the name given was to encourage good and moral behaviour, hence Patience, Constance, and like 3rd great grandmother Gladden, Mercy. We also have an Experience Gladden and it is not quite so certain what the intent might have been; remember a certain experience, beware a certain experience? She may have had a cousin Remember, which might help. I think the Puritans got a bit carried away though as there are names documented that are cruel and weird; like Joy in Sorrow, Kill-sin, Abstinence, Die-Well and No-Merit. You could preach a sermon and call your kid for supper at the same time... Just sayin'.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Praise-God_Barebone#/media/File:Praise-god_Barebone.jpg

This is certainly not the strangest Puritan name but because he became a member of the Nominated Assembly in London in 1653, he is well documented. I am pretty sure there is Puritan heritage in the Bryant family, but not this particular fellow.

Some of my favorite names in the family tree come from the ladies of the 1800's. Tryphena Stevens, Lynn's 2nd great grandmother, became the wife of Christopher Bryant and they travelled by ox cart about 1807 from Enfield, NH to Brome County, Quebec. They were the first of our Bryant family to settle in Quebec and are buried in the Bryant Cemetery in Austin, QC.

Tryphena Maria Stevens Bryant (1784-1853)

Tryphena and Christopher named their first daughter Classical, which is a lovely name. Classical was born March 15th 1805 in Enfield, NH and later married Isaac Brown. They also named a daughter Classical, but no one else in the tree bears that name.

Classical Bryant Brown died in Massachusetts in 1891 at the home of her son. She is buried in the Bryant Cemetery.

Tryphena and Christopher's son, Holsey, married a woman named Calista Packard, 'Calista' being another name with Greek and Roman origins. Her father was a preacher and seems to be named after the John Alden who arrived on the Mayflower. Because Calista and Holsey named one of their daughters Calista as well, there are two in the tree with this unusual name. Calista's grandmother was named Artemisia, so maybe it was under her influence that Calista got her name.

I also like the name of Christopher Bryant Jr.'s  wife; Sarepta Geer.   'Sarepta' is the name of a Phoenician city that is apparently mentioned in the Bible and interestingly the name of existing places in Russia, Louisiana and Alberta. Christopher, a son of Tryphena and Christopher  was granted letters patent for 50 acres of land in Bolton in 1860. 

from forests and Clearings the history of Stanstead county

One last Roman name belonged to Lucretia Adams, daughter of Rev L P Adams, who married Classical and Isaac's son Isaac. The name is thought to have its root in the Latin 'lucrum', and be a derivative of the Roman name Lucretius and is found 9 times so far in the family. An interesting note here is that Rev Adams signed many records pertaining to the Bryant family including the 1858 marriage record of Isaac and Lucretia.

It is pretty fascinating to find these historic and grand names on pioneer women, who must have been made of stern stuff to follow their husbands to a new country and start from scratch to build homesteads as well as bear, and often bury, children.

Fitch bay Cemetery

 At the same time, some of the men in the County had weighty and ponderous names like; Eliphalet Bodwell, Jeremiah Lovejoy, Quartus Pomroy, Lothrop Shurtleff and Theophilus Cass. These seem to have been named for greatness and influence. It would be interesting to research what became of them and see if these names affected their destiny.

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/73677435/lothrop-shurtleff/photo

Apparently Lothrop became a doctor.

It appears that parents have for centuries named their children as a form of remembrance. Sons of course, carried their father's surname but often carried their mother's surname either as their first name, or as a second name. For the name 'Bryant', I found 6 males and 2 females who were given that name as a middle name but surprisingly, no one was given it as a first name. For my maiden name 'Thornton', I found 7 males and only 1 female who received this as a middle name, but there were 5 who were given it as a first name. 

Parents now seem more likely to commemorate the name of a favorite relative or a friend as a middle name. My own middle name was my grandma's middle name, making me Catherine Jane. I don't know why I didn't get her first name as Catherine Isabella is kind of lovely. My father never forgave his parents for his middle name. He always acknowledged it as his middle initial, but this name was never spoken. Dad's given name was Byron Ethelbert Thornton, and as he barely reached 5 feet in height I think he blamed this on the weight of his name more than his premature birth. I believe his first name was in remembrance of Grandpa's brother who died as a young man. The unspoken and unspeakable 'Ethelbert', though the name of several early kings, more likely came from Grandpa's cousin Lafayette Ethelbert Thornton. I'm not sure Dad would have been any happier with Lafayette!

https://en.wikipedia.org File:Aethelberht_of_Kent_sculpture_on_Canterbury_Cathedral.jpg

My Uncle Frank was named Francis Leonard after his grandfather. Before he went overseas in WW2, he visited my parents who were living in Saint John, NB at the time. My mother was expecting at the time and Uncle Frank asked a favour of my parents; should this child be a boy, could he be named Francis in his memory, just in case he never returned. In June 1943, Francis Alan Thornton was born and three years later Uncle Frank returned from war with a British bride and went on to have two sons of his own. 

Although there are legal ways to change your name, and illegal ways to assume a new name, generally a name change is something only women experience. You go from Mary Jones to Mrs. John Smith, losing not one but two names; kind of a paradigm shift. As a researcher I have often 'lost'  women because I did not know what name to find them under in the absence of available marriage records. In Quebec, since 1981 women, by Provincial law, have been keeping their maiden names, so the investigator in me applauds this. After 44 years I am accustomed to my new name, but if you called me by my maiden name I would probably still answer without thinking. Just don't call me 'Catherine Jane', because I would think I was in trouble.

I think most parents just want to give their child a name that will serve them well; a name that has a meaning or a memory or a hope. This is probably a tradition that is timeless.

Willard and Charlotte

 

Willard Stickney Gladden was my husband's great grandfather, and he was born March 1st 1836 in Franklin, Vermont, to Samuel Gladden and Cyrenia Hefflon Gladden. He was the 3rd oldest of their nine children, and the oldest of their four sons. I have heard no family stories as to how they met, but it is believed that Willard married Charlotte Randall in 1858 and that their first child, a son Loren, was born in 1859 in Jay, Vermont, where Willard was farming, like his father before him. However, the tensions that had been simmering for decades between the northern and southern states was reaching a boiling point, and on April 12th, 1861, Civil War broke out. 

Atwood Mark Gladden 1840-1885

In July of 1863, two years into the war, Willard's brother Atwood Mark enlisted as a private in the 6th Vermont Volunteer infantry. Atwood was wounded at the Battle of Cedar Creek, but survived to serve the duration of the war. He was later listed as a carpenter/joiner in the Franklin Directory and part owner of a sawmill.

Atwood did not, sadly, live to be an old man, nor did he leave any children to carry on after him.

Willard enlisted after his younger brother, in December 1863. He became a private in the 8th Vermont Voluntary Infantry, having enlisted in Newport, Vermont. Realizing that this war was having a high human cost and that it might not be soon over, it must have difficult for him to leave his young wife and son. 

A portion of the enlistment document

Documents from Willard's service file give a snapshot of Willard's appearance; dark complexion, hazel eyes, dark hair; 5 feet 5 inches high. They also show that Willard did not go through the war unscathed, but had at least 3 hospital stays. Considering that a large percentage of deaths attributed to the Civil War were not from wounds but from disease, Willard was fortunate to survive.

It is interesting that just short of 100 years prior, Willard and Atwood's great-grandfather Azariah Gladden fought in the Revolutionary War. Documents from his service file show that his pay was 2 Pounds, and that part of his time was served as a marine on the USS Montgomery. A deposition documenting his service was entered on Azariah's behalf so that he could receive a pension from his war service. "I have also heard him (Azariah) speak of being on board a ship in said service in the North River near Fort Montgomery, of being fired upon from the fort (British), of their cutting their cables to float down stream, of being driven back by the wind & running the vessel on shore & setting fire to her."  The purpose of this action was to prevent the British from gaining possession of the ship and was a well documented fact. 

Co G, 5th Connecticut

Excerpt of Brief from 1833; dates referred to on the left are 1776 & 1777

Willard was mustered out on the 28th of June 1865, from Washington DC. He had been in Louisiana, Virginia, Washington DC, and New York State; a lot of travel for a farm boy from Vermont and certainly a wealth of memories of sights and sounds that would remain with him forever.

By the time that the 1870 census was taken, life had returned to some kind of normal. Willard and Charlotte were farming in Jay, Vermont, and now had a family of three children. The following census was in 1881, and the family, now in Glen Sutton, Quebec, had grown with the birth of 5 more children, but also been diminished by the loss of their son Simon in 1880, and the marriage of oldest son Loren. When Willard brought the family to Quebec, he was the only Gladden of his family to do so, but it certainly was not an uncommon move as most of the early settlers to the region were from the New England states. Charlotte's parents, Shepard Randall and Lorena Heath Randall were also now in Quebec, in the Mansonville area, so perhaps this was a reason for the move. Glen Sutton is about 18 km away from Mansonville; not far by car on today's roads, but it would have taken much longer in 1875 by cart or on horseback on the dirt roads through the hills.

Chapel Hill Cemetery near Mansonville, QC

In 1891 the census shows only four children remaining at home, with 17 year Caleb listed as 'farmer' along with his father.  Oldest daughter Gertrude was now married and had children, and daughter Sarah was newly married and living in Melbourne, QC. An interesting change on this census, was that the religion given was Seventh Day Adventist instead of Church of England. Seventh Day Adventism stemmed from the Millerite Movement in the US in 1830's and crossed over into the Eastern Townships over the next decade. The first Adventist church was organized in 1877 at South Stukely so this was a fairly recent, as well as minority, religious organization.

from Canadian Union Messenger 2 Jan 1952

It is a notable change because it changed the religious direction of the Gladden family to this day, but seems to have pertained to that section of the family tree alone. My husband and his twin were raised for many years by Willard's daughter Nettie, my husband's Grandma. He remembers going to church as well as tent meetings with her, and not being allowed to eat bacon because it was considered 'unclean'.

Tent meetings in South Stukely

Sometime before 1901 something happened that changed circumstances for Willard and Charlotte. It seems that they may have fallen on hard times because Charlotte has gone to live with Nettie and her husband, Stephen Bryant in Stanstead County. I have searched for Willard on the 1901 census, but not as yet found him. He was not listed with Loren and his family in Glen Sutton, although I believe he was there. He may not have had a usual residence at this point at which to be counted. 

Loren Merton Gladden 1859-1929

Charlotte pens a letter to Willard in March of 1903 which seems to point to this possibility. She is still with Nettie and Stephen and describes some daily activities; 'Nettie is burning  bones for the hens' and 'Stephen is in the woods today chopping' and 'he has been having the toothache lately'. It is clear that she longs to be together again and that he does not yet have 'a place'.

Between the writing of this letter in March, and May of the same year, Charlotte has travelled to her daughter Gertrude's near Flodden, QC. This would have been quite a journey from Beebe Plain, where in 1903 Nettie is expecting her second child, to Flodden which is just south of Richmond. Charlotte's health must have further deteriorated because she passed away in Flodden, on the 14th of May, 1903, aged 63. It would seem likely that she never saw Willard again and I do not know how many years had passed since she had been in his presence. Sadder still, Charlotte is buried in a tiny Pioneer Cemetery in Flodden and not in Glen Sutton where her son Simon was buried, and where Willard was later laid to rest.

burial record shows cause of death as pneumonia

Aunt Ina (daughter of Nettie and Stephen) thought that this might be Charlotte, but no one presently living knows for certain. I would like to think it is.

I don't know much more of Willard's story, except for the fact that 2 years after that letter was written, he died in Glen Sutton and was buried in Brock Memorial Park near Simon. It is so unsatisfactory to be missing so many details of this story. It seems such a sad ending to a 40+ year love story; to be separated in life then not even be laid to rest together. 

Epilogue

    After Willard died, Loren and his family moved back to the States where he worked for almost twenty years as a carpenter on the Boston & Maine RR. Loren and his wife Ruby were however brought back to Glen Sutton to be buried with Willard.

Gertrude Gladden Clark 1867-1922

Gertrude married George Washington Clark and had 5 children. After her death George remarried and is buried with his second wife in Sherbrooke. She is buried in Flodden with her mother which is rather poignant; two married women women buried apart from their husbands.

Gertrude, Homer Clark and Sarah Gladden Clark (1871-1960)

Sarah married Homer Willis Clark, younger brother of George Washington Clark. Homer and Sarah moved to Vermont at the turn of the century and the last of their four children was born in Corinth. Later in life Sarah wrote a poem for her mother. This is a portion of it.

Julia Gladden (1880-1933), Caleb Gladden (1874-1960)

 Alta Gladden (1876-1958)

Caleb also moved to Vermont. He married Matilda Miller in 1904, settled in Berkshire and raised three sons on their farm there. He was known as 'Uncle Calley' in the family and was well loved. He was a farmer, school teacher, poet and staunch Adventist. 

One of Calley's poems submitted by Nettie's daughter Evelyn and printed in The Record 18 Oct 1994

Alta Elmira Gladden Sims (1876-1958)

Alta, not yet of age, became the 2nd wife of widower Matthew Sims of the  Melbourne area in 1886. This union made her step-mother to 5 children, the oldest of whom was a scant 8 years younger than herself. she then became a mother to eight children of her own, six of them girls. Matthew predeceased Alta by almost 20 years and is buried in Melbourne Ridge Cemetery but is also commemorated in the Windsor Cemetery where Alta is buried. 

L to R - Julia Gladden Darby, Charles Darby, Caleb Gladden, Alta Gladden Sims, Matthew Sims - front Allen Darby and Edward Gladden, Caleb's son

Julia Gladden, clearly a petite woman, seemed to be asked to carry a large portion of heartbreak on those small shoulders. Married to Wesley Flanders in August 1900, she gave birth to a daughter, Vera, the following month. As Julia and Vera are not shown with Wesley a few months later on the 1901 census, might indicate that the marriage was only to legitimize Vera's birth. In Charlotte's letter in Mar 1903, she says 'Julia is now here'. Whether Julia was living there or just visiting is not clear, but she was still there in May when her daughter dies on the 7th, only to be followed by her mother Charlotte's death on the 14th. As for Wesley, according to his death record of 1907 in Manchester, NH, he had already been in New Hampshire for two years and his marital status was listed as single. Julia did remarry in 1911 and had a son Allen, with her new husband, Charles Darby. Unfortunately she had a short thirteen years with Charles and only lived to be 52 herself. 

Nettie Mae Gladden Bryant (1881-1957)

The youngest of Willard and Charlotte's children was my husband's grandmother Nettie. Her story is for another blog, but suffice it to say that Nettie was adored by her children and grandchildren. I think that this tells us something about her parents and upbringing, because they were the roots from which she grew into the woman she was. willard and Charlotte's story is poignant yet they clearly laid the strong foundations upon which their children built.