In going through some boxes of items that belonged to my mom after her death, I found many of the things inside were actually my nana’s, who had passed away in 1996. I wish my mom had shown them to me when she brought them home from my nana’s but that is a resounding theme of my family, perhaps yours as well. The past wasn’t discussed, it was so tightly locked up I expected there to be a skull and crossbones on the boxes with text warning me to KEEP OUT!
In going through everything, I found nothing sinister. Instead, there were photographs and paperwork that should have been discarded a long time ago. Yet I would not assume that there was nothing of consequence here, painstakingly checking even the scraps.
In an envelope marked THE MARRIAGE SERVICE, there was a booklet. Using my video magnifier, I enlarged the pages enough to see that it was from when my nana and pop-pop were married in 1928. I looked through the small program, then immediately grabbed my iPad to see if the church, Trinity Church Oxford in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, still exists. It does.
Heading to Philly for another reason several months later, my husband and I decided to go by Trinity. Phoning first, to ensure it would be be open, I was told someone would be there. It was a gorgeous September day, as we walked from the car Mister Rain described the brick structure to me, the old stones in the cemetery, the many tall trees surrounding the church, set back from the busy city intersection. It sounded like an oasis in the middle of the metropolis that has grown around it.
Noticing that one of the doors was ajar, my husband looked inside. A man was working in the sanctuary. Calling out to alert the gentleman that someone had arrived as to not scare him, we entered, explaining why we were there. The church caretaker gave us carte blanche to explore. I first sat in one of the pews, wondering if my grandparents and perhaps their parents attended services here with any regularity. The altar was roped off, but the gentleman said we could remove it in order to climb the few steps to its landing. I reverently approached until I stood where my grandparents were married over 90 years ago. My nana would have been 27, my pop-pop 29, seven years home from his service as a Marine in World War I. I have no idea when or where they met, or how long they dated. All I know for sure is that my mom came along five years later, that they would be married 44 years when my pop-pop died. My nana lived another 24 without him, something I cannot imagine.
I am sad to say the many questions I have now where nowhere in sight when Nana was alive. What had come before was not shared; I chalk it up to both the nature of the generation and maybe a bit of my family’s way as well. Even giving myself grace about my youth, I am mad that I did not know to ask and a little angry at what they did not say.
I suppose, though, that they did the next best thing. They left behind clues that I could either choose to follow or decide to ignore. The only option for me was the former. And that is how I found myself standing in the spot where my grandparents pledged to spend the rest of their lives together almost a century ago.
Sixty-four years after she and my pop-pop said “I do,” my nana posed for pictures with Mister Rain and I at a different altar on the day that he and I wed. My pop-pop was long gone by then but I am so thankful she was there. And I am just as grateful that I was here.
#sisterrain #alittlesightalotofheart #legallyblindwriter #ushistory #mystory #philadelphia #trinitychurchoxford #theydid
