An injustice corrected

Sometimes, we stroll down memory lane alone, just remembering the way things were. Other times, we amble as a group and make a few adjustments. This weekend, we attended the consecration of a grave that had previously been unblessed. It was a grave of a four-year-old boy, named Robert Earl Strosser, my father-in-law's uncle. He passed away after dehydrating as a result of eating too many green apples or pears. The oral history is unclear on his actual cause of death as he died in 1921. At the time of his death, there was some disagreement about the fact he was not laid to rest in a Catholic cemetery so the serving priest refused to bless the grave. Saturday, that injustice was addressed and corrected. Deacon Ed conducted the consecration and gave a beautiful prayer, and for that, we cannot be grateful enough. My mother-in-law brought the prayer book of Robert's mother and a picture of her at her first communion and laid it on the grave during the service. There are no pictures of the little boy that we know of. Inside the prayer book, Helen (the mother) had written many events, like births and deaths. It broke this mother's heart to see how she had to squeeze in the date of her little boy's death, as I'm sure she didn't expect to write it in herself and did not leave enough room.

There was one woman, Dorothy Heib, at the consecration who had attended the funeral as a six-year-old girl. She is 93 now. She told of how she was forced to sit during the service and was restless and wanted to know what was going on. As soon as my father-in-law's father (her uncle) relaxed his grip on her hand, she scampered up to the grave site as they were lowering the casket. She said a chill came over her as she saw the fabric lining the grave and the dirt falling on top of the casket as they filled in the hole. She ran back to him as fast as she could. She recalled he held her especially hard after that, but it was unnecessary since she was so disturbed.

After the service, we all went to Schilo's to drink homemade root beer and eat Ruebens or hamburger steak. We talked for hours, sharing memories and making new ones.

These memories are important to all of us. Without oral history, we lose the spirit of our existence and of who we are. When our elders pass on those memories, we become the keeper of them. They belong to us. It is our responsibility to protect their integrity and pass them to our children. It is also our responsibility to ensure our children are aware of these responsibilities and act on them. So the next time you find yourself on the listening end of a story that begins, "Back then, things were different...," relax and really listen and take it in. You never know what you might learn about your elders, or about yourself.