If Julie Andrews taught me anything in my formative youth, she taught me to always start at the beginning. I recently departed on a quest for love, and as it turns out, I happened to be home recently; what a “very good” place to start out my quest.
I spent an afternoon rifling through an old box of my dad’s filled with different parts of his past. A lot of things from when he was a kid, but there was also some treasures that I hadn’t ever imagined seeing. There were some belongings of my grandfather; my father’s father. This is a man that I never knew, and my father barely knew. He died in an accident when my father was very young, and all I’ve ever known about him are the few memories my father has and what my late grandmother had told me.
I found among the possessions; an old wallet, some report cards, pay stubs, church documents and old negatives.
I had to get the negatives developed! These weren’t 35mm or medium format. They were something I had never seen before, and I ended up searching all day for a shop that would/could develop them. They range from the late 30s to early 40s.
The results:
My Dad
This photo startled me. I visit this gravesite every time I go to Oklahoma because’s it’s my grandfather’s burial site. I took a photo of it when I was there in June.
It goes on. In this box I found some photos that had already been developed.
Grandpa Joe has the blue “X” on him.
Grandma Gladys and Grandpa Joe
On top of photos, there were some old newspaper clippings from when Joe died.
I started to get a bit sad after reading these clippings. I’m not entirely sure why. This is a man who I didn’t know at all, and he didn’t have the faintest idea of me. Why did I care?
I got to thinking. How do you know you love someone even though you haven’t met them? Is that even possible? Do I love my grandfather even though I’ve never met him? Does he love me even though he never met me? What is that love like? Is it more an idea of love than actual love?
I tried researching love without knowing someone and all that really came up was “love at first sight.” That isn’t quite what I’m looking for.
Upon further reflection, maybe I feel this thing called love for the idea that someone existed. This is someone who my father loved deeply and vice versa. Is this why I have this feeling of what I think could be love? I don’t believe in heaven, but is it possible that this man has love for me? Could he have had love for the idea that I might have eventually existed without knowing what I looked like, my personality, or even my name? Before she passed, my grandmother told me that I would have gotten along well with Grandpa Joe; we would have clicked. I guess she’s a valid party to say that, after knowing both him and myself. Does that mean love? Are we set to default love someone when they’re a blood relative? Family?
Is LOVE hard-wired in our soul?
As always, please feel free to leave your comments/questions on this blog post, or email me privately.
