My dad, middle back of this picture, died Thanksgiving Day, 1970 at age 51.  I am guessing the picture was taken in the early 1960’s .  

With him is his grandmother and his Uncle Elmer.  My two more experienced (older) sisters said Elmer was a bachelor.  Which is all I know about my dad’s uncle Elmer. 

Everyone has eight great-grandparents.  That is how it works.  The lady in the picture is the only great-grandmother I have a picture of.  I know little to nothing about any of them. 

Erma, my mom’s mom, is the only one of my grandparents I remember interacting with.  I was in my late twenties when she passed. I heard stories about the other three grandparents when I was young but have long forgotten what those stories were.  

Dad was born in Webster, South Dakota where this picture was taken.  My guess is he was there on a pheasant hunting trip. 

About a  month or so ago, I saw this picture and since then dad has been on my mind.  While I do miss him and mom, they’ve been gone a long time. Missing them tends to happen in the background.  However, for some reason, this picture brought dad to the front of my brain. 

When he died, I was a first quarter freshman going to Mankato State College but was home for the Thanksgiving holiday. At the time, for me, the fact he died was very sad but not shocking.  He had a bad heart. 

Mom who worked as a salad lady at Midland Hills Country Club, had gotten up early and went into work doing prep for the Thanksgiving event they had each year.   Dad was sleeping when she left for work.  I got up at about 9:00 in the morning like one does on a holiday. I don’t remember exactly but it seems to me my older sisters were home.    

Dad had not gotten up yet so I went into their bedroom to wake him up.  He was dead.  Calls were made, mom was soon home and the rest of that day and the next couple days are a blur in my head.  I do not remember helping make arrangements for the funeral or the funeral itself. 

Linda and I were less than a year into our relationship. I remember she and her dad came to the funeral but I don’t remember much else about the funeral.  

Thanksgiving break was just a couple weeks before the end of fall quarter.  The decision was made pretty quickly that I would go to school back in the Twin Cities so I could be home with Mom.  Not a huge discussion.  Everyone, including me, knew it needed to happen. 

I returned to Mankato, only for classes and my finals. Each trip home I’d bring stuff home.   By the end of my last final, I had only a small suitcase to bring home.  

Back then when a parent died, Social Security would pay for their children’s college tuition. There were forms to fill out and calls to be made.  It was too late to be accepted at the University of Minnesota for the rest of that school year. I was accepted to start at the U of MN the next fall.  

However, Anoka – Ramsey Junior College accepted me for winter and spring quarters. Which explains why my college manuscript says I went to Mankato State for fall quarter 1970,  Anoka Ramsey Junior College for winter and spring quarters 1971 and the University of Minnesota from Fall of 1971 to Spring of 1975.  

I’ve met my dads brothers and sisters, but had never met his parents, grandmothers, Uncle Elmer, any other of his aunts or uncles.  Over the years I’ve met some of his cousins and a couple kids of his cousins.  Leegard is not a common name so when you run into one, likely they are related. 

What has given me pause these last couple weeks is how, even though I only had my dad for eighteen years, quite literally, part of him lives on within me.  Genetically for certain but in many other ways, he taught me to do things. We were not best friends but he was my father and I was his son.  

His past is part of my past.  He made decisions that continue to affect my life.  He only had an eighth grade education but by my memory and by all accounts I ever heard about him he was an intelligent person.  

Dad was a bricklayer.  When I was like 10 or 11 years old, he took me aside and told me to study hard because he could already tell I did not have what it takes to be a bricklayer.  I was crushed then but it remains some of the best advice I ever got.  Turns out I have a bone structure which restricts my wrist movements.  He was right, physically I would never be good at laying bricks.

Each human who has ever lived were born with two biological parents, four grandparents and eight great-grandparents and so it goes for many generations.  Each person born with the same parents has the same grandparents, and the same great-grandparents all the way back through the generations that are our family trees.  

Back in April, I had a genetic assessment to determine if my genes contained defects that explained how I came to have colon, prostate and kidney cancer.  They didn’t find any.  A couple months later I am looking at old pictures. I ran across this picture. 

Here are three of my relatives. All have long passed into the great beyond.  Quite literally each of their lives and the lives of all of my relatives have affected the course of my life.  When they decided to migrate, whom they decided to marry or not marry. What schools they went to or didn’t go to. When they died. 

Looking at this picture gave me pause.  These are three of my relatives, two of which I never met. Their life circumstances directly impacted my life circumstances.  That is just the way life works.  It is weird but in a good way, I think.

The closer you look the more you see.