Sharon Kennedy: Saying goodbye to the old guard
I was visiting my cousin the other day and our conversation turned to a topic we often discuss, what I refer to as the “Old Guard.” There aren’t many of us first cousins left. Mary Cobb, the lady I visited, is 93. Her first marriage occurred in 1947, the year of my birth. With such a large difference in our ages, I never had the opportunity to get to know her until a few years ago when she invited me to her home.
It was quite an experience. I met some of her family who are my second and third cousins previously unknown to me. They’re a lively bunch who treasure their mother/grandmother and showed kindness and respect towards me, something I never received from first cousins who lived a stone’s throw away when I was growing up.
As we head toward summer and daylight lingers, Mary likes to sit on her porch and enjoy the sunshine. We tease her about getting a tan. She loves to watch birds at the feeder and rabbits hopping in the yard. This spring, ducklings felt the soft touch of Mary’s hands as she petted them when her son, Duane Ordiway, purchased them from Tractor Supply for Mary’s enjoyment. Like so many of us oldsters, she, too, grew up on a farm and remembers ducklings, new born chicks, piglets, calves and foals. Most barnyards are silent now, but when we were young, they were filled with the sounds of life.
Since the pandemic, I’ve been thinking about death a lot. Actually, that’s not quite true. It’s something I’ve thought about since I was a young child. Growing up on a farm, death is a given. In the 1950s, vets weren’t always able to save a cow or horse. Dogs chased cars and were doomed when they landed underneath the tires. Cats chased and caught wild rabbits. Sows suffocated piglets when they inadvertently rolled over on them. Too many frisky tomcats meant too many kitten litters that had to die shortly after birth.
Mary lost her 95-year-old sister a month ago. Last year another cousin, who was 89, bit the dust. When we turn to the obits in the newspaper, we never know which relative will be next to go. It’s a crapshoot. We’re not placing any bets, though, because if we go first, we’re not likely to settle the debt. It’s a strange feeling knowing we have many decades behind us and so few years to look forward to.
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When the Old Guard is gone, who will be left to tell our stories? If we haven’t written them down, they’ll leave with us. Some families are interested in their roots, but others don’t care one way or the other. Everything’s different now. With a touch of a digital button, folks can discover their ancestors. Some might be worth the time and expense. Others are best forgotten. I’ve thought about getting a DNA kit and tracing my heritage, but I haven’t followed through on the idea. With exceptions like Mary and her family, I’m certain my bloodline is royal only in the sense that it’s filled with royal jackasses.
As spring grudgingly gives way to summer, I’ll visit Mary more often. We’ll sit on her porch and reminisce. That’s the beauty of growing old. Before the Creator yells “Bingo,” we have time to spend with loved ones and remember those who are no more.
— To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at authorsharonkennedy.com. Kennedy's latest book, “The SideRoad Kids: Tales from Chippewa County,” is available from her, Amazon, or Audible.
This article originally appeared on The Sault News: Sharon Kennedy: Saying goodbye to the old guard
