Charlotte Girouard, also known as Anne, and in one case, Anne-Charlotte, was probably born in France about 1659 or 1660. Although, she may have been born after her parents arrived on the shores of Acadia, the place that would one day become Nova Scotia.

We really don’t know which of her names is technically accurate. One was probably her first name, and the second was a middle name. I suspect, based on the fact that she was buried under Anne, and she is recorded as Godmother for a granddaughter named Anne, clearly named after her, that her official name was actually Anne, but that she was called Charlotte much of the time. It’s worth noting that none of her children or grandchildren were named Charlotte. I’ll call her both here, as dictated by the documents where she was mentioned.

Our first record of Anne is found in the 1671 Acadian census, transcribed courtesy of Lucie LeBlanc Consentino, where Anne is listed with her parents, Francois Girouard, a laborer, age 50, and Jeanne Aucoin, age 40. Three of their children are married: Jacob, 23, Marie, 20, and Marie Magdaleine, 17. Children not married include Germain, 14, and Anne, 12. The family has 10 cattle and 12 sheep.

The first question this raises is why the youngest child in the family is age 12, and Jeanne Aucoin is only 40. She was born about 1631. Did she really stop having children at age 28, or did every child born between Anne in about 1659/1660 and the 1671 census die? That would have been at least five children, if not more.

Anne’s mother, Jean Aucoin, was born in La Rochelle, France. We know that in 1665, a ship, Le Saint-Sébastien, sailed from La Rochelle. The Girouard family may have been aboard or on other ships that sailed around the same time.

Per Karen Theriot Reader, a  contingent of colonists was among the 1651 “200 Elite Men” of Jacques de Poix, Sieur de Saint-Mas. I can’t find anything more about these colonists.

The Acadian colonists’ lives consisted of terrifying events alternately interwoven with the normal, mundane events that happen in most human lives. Births, baptisms, marriages, raising food, family gatherings, church services, and, eventually, funerals. Those events that make us all human and give our lives meaning. The Acadians withstood many more challenges than most. We all encounter difficult times and are incredibly grateful when those times have passed. However, for the Acadian families – they never ended.

The battle for Acadia, including the Acadians, raged for more than a century. The Acadian people were caught in the vortex and were collateral damage in a war betwen mighty monarchies.

From 1654 to 1667, Acadia, meaning the area surrounding Port Royal and La Hève, was under English control, not French.

From 1666 to about 1670, France stopped sending settlers to New France for fear of depopulating the homeland. Therefore, it’s extremely unlikely that the Girouard family arrived between 1654 and 1670. In 1670, the French regained control of Acadia from the English, and several colonists arrived. Based on the 1671 census, we know that the Girouard family was there by that time, but we don’t know when they arrived. If Anne was born in Acadia around 1660, her parents would have been some of the earliest immigrants, probably arriving prior to 1654.

In 1667, France recovered Acadia by treaty, but the English didn’t actually leave until 1670. During this time, another 30 soldiers and 60 settlers were dispatched with orders to restore French authority and keep those English OUT.

In 1671, the census revealed that Acadia had a very small population with less than 400 non-Native residents in about 70 households, distributed along the 5 or 6 miles of the Rivière Dauphin above Port Royal.

Based on the following census, we know that Charlotte married Jullien Lor (Lore, L’Or, Lord, Laure) about 1675 in Acadia – probably joined in matrimony by the parish priest in the church in Port Royal.

Their first child, Alexander, blessed their marriage in 1676.

In the 1678 census, Francois Girouer and Jeanne Aucoin are shown with 15 acres and 18 cattle, along with Germain Girouer, age 22, but nothing more is listed.

Julien Lore is missing from this census, by any name, which has fueled speculation that he might have been one of the English soldiers, and not French. However, given that he signed the 1690 loyalty oath to the English, that’s unlikely. If he was an English citizen, he would not have needed to sign that oath to the British crown. Only the French needed to sign.

Government officials came and went in Acadia with an alarming frequency. The area was anything but stable. In 1684, a new governor was appointed, who described the Acadians as living simply and pastorally. He claimed they lived better than Canadians, never lacking meat or bread, but weren’t as industrious. He said they never put anything away for a bad year, and their dowries were small – a few francs and a cow in calf, a ewe, and a sow. Some wealthy families even had a feather bed.

Charlotte and her family certainly weren’t wealthy and probably slept on straw pallets.

Before the next census, both sons Jacques and Pierre Lord were born, along with at least two and probably three children who perished. Marie was born in 1685.

In the 1686 census, in Port Royal, Julien Lord is shown as age 33, Charlotte as age 26, Alexander, 10, Jacques, 8, Pierre, 5, and Marie, 1. Given this information, Charlotte was born about 1660 and therefore married about age 15. They are living beside her parents. Her father Francois Girouard is 70, and her mother, Jeanne Aucoin, is 55. Julien and Charlotte do not have any land or livestock, but her parents farm 5 arpents of land and own 13 cattle, 16 sheep, 8 hogs, and 1 gun, suggesting that Julien and Charlotte live in a separate house, but farm her parents’ land.

By this time, most of Charlotte’s siblings have settled in Beaubassin, but Charlotte’s brother, Jacob/Jacques, is living several houses away.

Daughter Anne, named for her mother, was born about 1687.

In 1688, the Acadians who were draining the marshes to obtain recoverable farmland were experiencing a labor and manure shortage. Long hours for everyone – sunup to sundown.

Two more children were probably born and died during this time.

On May 9, 1690, the Acadians were brutally attacked once again by the English. Their farms were torched and their homes plundered – for days on end. The mill and some upriver farms were spared, but we don’t know which ones. The Acadians were forced to swear an oath of allegiance.

English pirates followed, taking anything that was left and killing any remaining livestock for sport. Pure cruelty.

Life was hell. Based on the next census, I suspect that their homes didn’t survive. Anne’s father has died, and they are now living with her mother.

In 1692, daughter Magdelaine was born.

In the 1693 census, Charlotte, age 33, is shown with husband Julien Lord, age 43, living with Charlotte’s mother, Jeanne Aucoin, age 60, widow of Francois Girouard, in or near Port Royal. They have son Alexander, 17, Jacque, 14, Pierre, 12, Marie, 6 and Magdeleine, 1. They own 20 cattle, 40 sheep, 10 hogs, and 2 guns and farm 20 arpents of land.

This puts Charlotte’s birth year at about 1660 and confirms her marriage date at about age 15 in about 1675.

They are also shown one house away from Charlotte’s brother, Jacob. Discrepancies in various census documents about how closely they live to him probably stem from either a difference in the census taker’s path, or recording the results out of order.

Another child probably died, then son Louis or Jean-Baptiste, based on different census records, was born about 1695. He (or they?) probably died too, but not as an infant.

In 1696, the English attacked – again burning and slaughtering animals. This time, however, they also ruined the dykes so the Acadians couldn’t plant crops.

Another nameless child died.

In 1697, Acadia was returned to the French by treaty. Life should be better now!

In the 1698 census, Charlotte is shown in the Port Royal census, age 38, as the wife of Julien Lord, age 46. They have several children: a son, Jacques 20, Marie 18, Pierre 16, Anne 11, and Jean-Baptiste 3. Julien has done well. They have 20 sheep, 12 hogs, 21 arpents of land, 6 fruit trees and 1 gun.

I can see Charlotte picking apples, at least eventually, as soon as they are large enough to bear fruit.

Their eldest child, Alexander, is missing from the census, and daughter Marguerite was born the same year.

Charlotte’s age indicates that she was born in 1660.

The 1700 census lists Charlotte’s mother, Jeanne Aucoin, widow of Francois Girouard, age 87, as the head of household. Clearly, Julien Lord, age 48, noted as her son-in-law, and Charlotte, age 40, were living with her mother and farming the farm, an arrangement that assuredly benefited everyone. Their children were listed as Alexandre, 24, Jacques, 21, Pierre, 18, Louis, 5, Madelaine, 8, and Marguerite, 2. Charlotte’s age indicates that she was born in 1660 and was married in about 1675.

The population has grown to about 2000 Acadians, four or five times what it was 29 years earlier.

Of course, the question is, whose farm was it, and where was it located? We know where Julien Lord’s children lived, and we know where Charlotte’s brother who established the Girouard Village lived. We also know where the wife of Charlotte’s youngest brother, Marie Bourgeois, lived – just upstream from the Girouard Village.

The Bourgeois and Girouard families lived about a mile and a half apart, as the crow flies, and the Girouard Village was about 6 miles as the crow flies from Julien Lord. Of course, the river was a winding route, so slightly longer by batteau or canoe. However,  Charlotte’s brother, Germaine, clearly married the Bourgeois neighbor girl. One saw their neighbors more often than they saw anyone else.

The location is further hinted at by the fact that Jeanne Aucoin and Charlotte Girouard Lor’s neighbor in 1700 was Charlotte’s brother, Jacob (Jacques) Girouard, age 53, with his wife Marguerite Goutrot.

The wonderful GIS maps at Map Annapolis show us where they lived and provide additional information.

Clearly, they lived very close to Jacques Girouard.

In 1701, Anne’s age is given as 41, so she would have been born about 1660. They have 17 cattle, 15 sheep, 12 hogs and live on 10 arpents of land in or near Port Royal. They also have two guns.

While Anne’s youngest children are still being born, her eldest are beginning to marry. Anne’s son, Alexandre, married Marie Francoise Barrieau not long before the remaining Catholic parish records began in 1702. 

In the 1703 census, no ages are given for residents other than the head of household, and Julien’s wife is not listed by name, nor are their 4 boys and 4 girls. There are 4 arms-bearers within the family, and they live in or near Port Royal.

Based on the census, it looks like a female child was born after 1703, and a male between 1701 and 1702 who died before 1707.

Son Charles was born in 1703 or 1704

One final daughter may have been born after Charles.

Attacks were launched by the English again in 1704. Settlements and churches were looted, and dams were “dug down” and destroyed.

In the 1704 census, the family is listed only under the dit name “La Montagne.” Is there a reason for this?

Anne stood up as godmother for her namesake granddaughter, Anne Lore born to son Alexander on April 5^th, 1705. That must have been a glorious day of celebration.

The 1707 census does not show Julien and Charlotte’s family at all.

Peace, such as it was, was short-lived. Anticipating more conflict, Fort Anne was expanded with a new powder magazine and barracks.

Amidst this unfolding disaster, on November 19, 1708, Jacques married Angelique Comeau. I hate to say life went on like normal, because I’m sure nothing was “normal,” or maybe normal had become living under a cloud of constant fear.

In 1708 and 1709, escaped prisoners from English corsairs reported that the English were planning to attack – soon.

The long-anticipated and much-dreaded assault came on September 24, 1710, heralded by five warships carrying 3,400 troops. The Acadians, with 300 soldiers, stood no chance of successful resistance. Now, the only question was one of survival.

Anne, at age 51, must have been terrified for her husband, her sons, and her family in general. Did she take her children up the mountain behind their home and join the Mi’kmaq people there?

Cannons boomed, echoing up and down the river, the sounds of war reaching even the most distant homesteads with their ominous warning. The meager band of Acadians attempted to defend themselves. The fort was under siege.

A lost cause, the Acadians relented and pledged allegiance to the Queen of England. Port Royal was renamed Annapolis Royal. England was now in charge.

Amazingly, the local Acadian men were allowed to leave the fort with at least a few shreds of dignity and not slaughtered.

In 1711, the local priest was captured by the English and taken to Boston.

Anne’s daughter-in-law, Angelique Comeau, died not long after the birth of her second child, who was born on September 22, 1711. Her son, Jacques, wouldn’t remarry for a decade, so it’s certainly possible that Anne raised, or at least assisted with raising, those children.

Church services weren’t held during this time because baptisms weren’t recorded until months later, in February 1712.

Daughter Anne married Mathieu Doucet a few weeks later on June 15, 1712.

At first, the English tried to force the Acadians to leave and relocate elsewhere. However, about the time the Acadians decided they actually wanted to leave, the British soldiers realized they couldn’t survive without the Acadians to feed them. Then, the Acadians were forbidden to leave, which had the effect of making them want to leave all the more.

France ceded Acadia to England with all her residents in April of 1713 – a dark day indeed. France abandoned Acadia and decided to focus on Louisiana instead. One source reported that in the last 100 years, France had sent less than 200 colonists to Acadia. It’s truly amazing that any survived.

At this point, the Acadians decided they wanted to leave and join other French families in other parts of New France. Enough is enough.

On January 16, 1714, daughter Magdelaine married.

In 1714, in the only English census, Julien is recorded in the census only by his “dit name,” or nickname, “La Montagne,” along with his wife, 3 sons, and 2 daughters living “near the fort” in Port Royal.

Unfortunately, the censuses ceased at this point in time.

On June 17, 1715, son Pierre Lore married Jeanne Doucet.

The English shut the gates to the fort, prohibiting trade with both the soldiers and the Native people. Boats were seized. Now, the Acadians were being held hostage in their own land.

In 1717, the Acadians, under significant duress, relented and decided to stay under peaceful terms, which upset their allies and kin, the Mi’kmaq, who were afraid the Acadians would “sell out” to the English.

What a mess!

Daughter Marguerite married Joseph Amiraux on January 30, 1718.

The “stay or go” and under what conditions yo-yo continued through 1720. I can only imagine the constant frustration and upheaval in the Acadian community. Those neighborly discussions must have been plenty heated!

The English continued to pressure the Acadians to take a new loyalty oath, and the Acadians continued to refuse. The Acadians, unable to travel by water, begin to carve out a cart road to Minas, determined to walk away, literally. The governor caught wind of that plan and stopped all work, prohibiting all moves.

The Acadians were declared to be both ungovernable and stubborn – which makes me laugh right out loud. That’s a heritable trait!

Anne’s son Jacque married for a second time in 1721 to Charlotte Bonnevie.

Julien died in 1724, leaving Anne-Charlotte a widow at about 64 years of age. His death and burial entry were never completed in the church records, which makes me wonder about “the rest of the story.”

How did she survive after that? According to the best information we can squeeze out of existing records, and sometimes the absence of records, Charlotte would have had one unmarried daughter and one unmarried son remaining at home. Charles married two years after his father died, so he may have already been managing the farm by that time. Unfortunately, without a census, we really have no idea about the household structure.

It’s probably safe to say that Anne lived with her children and helped however she could. There was always food preparation, making clothes, bathing children, and a myriad of chores to be completed within the home.

Life went on – it had to. There were chores to do if anyone wanted to eat.

Anne’s youngest child, Charles, married Marie-Josephte Doucet on February 19, 1726. I hope this brought the family at least some joy – at least for a few days.

Children

Anne or Charlotte had several confirmed children, some known by name and some only by their presence in a later census. Based on “blank spaces,” she probably gave birth to several others as well.

• Alexandre Lord (1676-1740) married Marie Francoise Barrieau before 1702, when existing parish records began.
• Possibly a child that died
• Jacques Lord 1679-died circa 1742, married Angelique Comeau in 1708 and then Charlotte Bonnevie in 1721.
• Probably a child that died
• Pierre Lord 1682-1738 married Jeanne Doucet in 1715
• Possibly a child that died
• Marie Lord 1684/1687-died after 1733 when a Marie witnessed a baptism, if this was her.
• Anne Lord 1687-1770 died in Trois Rivieres, Quebec, married Mathieu Doucet in 1712
• Probably two children that died.
• Madeleine Lord 1692-1780 married Francois Amiraut in 1714
• Probably a child that died
• Louis Lord also recorded as Jean-Baptiste Lord 1695-died sometime after 1714
• Marguerite LORD 1695/1698-died before Nov. 1768, married Joseph Amiraux in 1718
• Probably two children based on the census – a female who died after 1703 and a male born 1701/1702 and died before 1707
• Charles Lore 1703/1704-1776 died in Varennes, Quebec, married Marie-Josephte Doucet in 1726
• One daughter found on the census

Charlotte’s children are very difficult to sort out, in part because of the censuses that recorded the number of children, but no names.

Charlotte probably brought at least 17 and possibly 18 children into the world, and buried at least 9 of them as children. It’s agonizing to bury a child, but I suspect it’s even more heart-wrenching to bury your adult child. We know that Charlotte did exactly that, at least five times.

Nine of her children lived to adulthood, but only four outlived Charlotte.

Daughter Marie appears to have never married and died sometime after 1733.

Pierre died on January 17, 1738, leaving a wife and eight children.

Alexandre died on October 5, 1740, leaving a wife and 13 children. Anne would have been 80 sometime that year.

Her son, Jacques, died sometime around 1742, so it’s hard to say whether he outlived his mother. He left a wife and nine living children.

Some of Anne’s children, like Louis, Jean-Baptiste, and Marie, simply disappear from the records, a silent testimony to their demise. Before 1702, no church records remain, and even after 1702, we know that many are incomplete.

And, of course, Charlotte probably buried many of her grandchildren who were born before her death, too.

The grim reaper was a regular visitor, and the Catholic cemetery beside the St-Jean-Baptiste church near the fort was a busy place indeed.

Infant deaths and stillbirths often weren’t recorded, so we don’t really know how many grandchildren Anne had. We know that some lived into adulthood, but others are questionable, or we know that they died before Anne.

The good news is that four of Anne’s children survived the deportation in 1755 and died in Quebec. Let’s hope that many of the questionable individuals survived and we simply lost track of them in the deportation. Anne had only been deceased for 13 years by the time that occurred. It’s also interesting that two of her grandchildren were deported back to France, landing in Le Havre. Those families eventually provided depositions about Anne-Charlotte’s parents.

We don’t know what caused the deaths of Anne’s children. For those who do have death records, no cause of death is provided. Something may have happened in 1742 because Anne, one of her children, and one of her adult grandchildren died within a short span of time.

One thing is for sure: Acadia was anything but peaceful. Warfare was nearly constant, with the English attempting to burn or starve the Acadians out over and over again.

It’s absolutely amazing that Anne survived 80+ years in that environment. She also lived there for most of the century or so that Acadia was actually a viable colony. It’s nothing short of luck that they weren’t simply wiped off the map. Call it stubbornness if you want – I’ll call it tenacious.

Anne Finally Rests

Anne’s death was recorded in the parish register as Anne Girouard dit la Montagne. She died on January 10^th, 1742, at about 80 years of age, the widow of Julien Lor dit La Montagne.

Anne’s original death record is found in the Nova Scotia archives, here.

FamilySearch shows a different record, though. This copy looks to be a recopied or transcribed version. Note the word “Lord” in this copy but not in the left-hand margin of the original document.

Anne or Charlotte, or whatever combination of those names, would have been given a Catholic burial and then interred in the same cemetery as her husband, parents, children, and other relatives. A white wooden cross probably marked her final resting place. Her family would have visited from time to time, and thought of her each Sunday as they arrived to worship. Right up until no Acadians could worship there anymore.

Anne would have heard the distant mass for another 23 years until the church was silent and the Acadians were no more.

Now, no markers remain, and the exact location of these graves has been lost to time. We simply know they are there. The graves were destroyed during the forced deportation of the Acadians in 1755 – one last insult. The English attempted to remove even the final vestiges of the Acadian families. Today, known as the Garrison Graveyard, the Acadian section is marked only by grass. A place of reflection and reverence for those brave Acadians who settled and tamed these wild shores.

I doubt the Acadian settlers ever dreamed that the Indians and wild beasts were much less dangerous than the wrath and greed of the vengeful English.

Anne’s life was difficult – incredibly difficult, beyond something I can even imagine. She lived her entire life under the constant threat of warfare on the horizon. Sometimes, it wasn’t just a threat – it rolled over them like one devastating storm after another. I wonder how many homes were burned and how many family members died at the hands of the English.

I’ve long suspected, but will never know, that both her father, Francois, and husband, Julien met their deaths in some kind of accident or skirmish. Her father was elderly, but Julien was not – and warfare was unrelenting and ever-present.

Grand-maman

Anne lived her life surrounded by her 54 known grandchildren and at least 33 great-grandchildren who were born in her golden years. That had to bring her joy.

When Anne reached the age where she was unable to help with the hard work in the fields or patching the dikes, she assuredly could assist by watching over her brood of grandchildren, regaling them with stories of far-away France, a trip in a sailing ship across the wild sea, and a grandfather, or great-grandfather named Julien who was an oh-so-brave soldier.

How I yearn for the chance to sit quietly at her feet, unnoticed among the others, absorbing her captivating stories. I can close my eyes and hear her voice…

_____________________________________________________________

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As you begin this article, I want to assure you that it ends on a VERY positive note, with tools to help you or others who find themselves in a dark place. The holidays is a very difficult time for many.

Grief wears many faces, and we grieve many things.

This is about my journey out of the tunnel and life on the other side.

These past three years have been indescribably brutal for many people who have experienced loss, and often, multiple losses.

People, family, parents, siblings, children, pets, jobs, homes, and even more devastating losses sometimes – relationships and even entire families. Poof, just gone, sometimes without explanation or reason. Fractured forever, irreparably.

Funerals, when they were held, were often unable to be attended.

There’s no closure.

And now, once again, we face the holidays in this landscape of absence, in an even more politically charged and divisive environment.

Did you just feel your stress level increase?

I know it can be dark and brutal, but I want to share rays of hope with you, and some tools for getting there.

The only way to it is through it.

Please walk with me in this landscape for a bit.

Suicide Hotlines – Just in Case

I know the holidays can be particularly difficult, so just in case you’re overwhelmed, here’s a list of international suicide prevention hotline numbers. Please, please reach out if you need help.

In case you’re wondering, I’m fine. Today, I just talked to someone who isn’t, though.

Change is Tough

For many, including me, the holidays are not and can never be what they once were. Yet, we torture ourselves trying to paste on a smile and go through the motions of the traditions that were once warm and joyful in another time and place. But they aren’t anymore for a wide variety of reasons.

Do yourself a favor.

Just stop.

You don’t HAVE to do this.

And you shouldn’t try to recreate past times through tradition if it’s painful.

Let me share some personal experiences with you. You may have experienced or are experiencing something similar in your life. If you aren’t, good, but rest assured that someone you know and love probably is.

Grief and vulnerability are the secrets no one talks about.

Vulnerability

We are all more vulnerable during holidays or periods of traditional cultural celebration, partly because we have expectations based on past experience. Or maybe it’s actually hope for the holidays and the relationships with the people in our lives. Maybe this year will FINALLY be better than the last, and the last, and the last, and everyone will be “home for the holidays” once again.

After all, traditionally, holidays have been a homecoming that looks like a Hallmark greeting card, at least in our minds.

Real life just doesn’t work this way. And if it once did, it doesn’t anymore.

As life moves on, so do people, pets, and family members, for a wide variety of reasons, including death, often making those memories increasingly painful. In some cases, it’s the cumulative number of those events, layer upon layer of grief. Sometimes, it’s how quickly they occur, an agonizing cluster that changes things forever. And sometimes, it’s the fracture of finality, leaving people feeling like they were thrown away like so much trash.

Sometimes, in our efforts to uphold our own expectations and those of others by recreating legendary family traditions and events, we inadvertently fall into a cycle of repeated disappointment, which can lead us to dread these very events in the future.

That’s a downward spiral.

Let Me Give You an Example

My mother cherished Christmas, treasuring it as a time when all the people she loved gathered together, united under one roof in celebration and togetherness.

The house was bustling, and conversations flowed in every room.

Food was abundant, and children zigzagged excitedly through adult legs on the way to their special table.

Sometimes, Santa even visited, although he looked a lot like my brother or the neighbor from the farm down the road. I’m sure that was just a coincidence, though.

In my family, Christmas was both a holiday and our only family reunion.

After Dad passed away, Mom moved to an apartment, and those large family Christmas gatherings were no more, although we regrouped in a different setting. Mom used to be so joyful, singing in the kitchen, but she often cried at Christmas after Dad and others were gone, although she tried to hide her tears from the rest of us.

After Mom passed away, Christmas was just PAINFUL. We tried to focus on our wonderful memories of Mom, but the pain of her departure was very real. Everyone experiences some version of these events, and it’s normal to feel grief, but what we often aren’t prepared for is that someone’s absence changes the dynamics of everything.

For a few years, we still tried to connect with each other and have something resembling a “family holiday,” but not everyone was interested, and people drifted away. The “glue” was gone.

After both of my brothers died of cancer within a few months of each other just six years later, any semblance of family tradition fell completely apart.

I then tried to pivot into the matriarch role and provide family Christmas traditions for my own offspring. I longed for those earlier joyful days, too. They lovingly remembered “Christmas at Mawmaw’s house,” which, in turn, was some iteration of her family Christmas traditions that had been passed down in her maternal line for unknown generations.

I wanted to continue those warm traditions and create loving memories for my family, passing the tradition of togetherness and love to future generations.

That was a wonderful aspiration, but it just wasn’t to be.

Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.

Physical Mementos

I was bound and determined to continue family traditions. That’s just what the next generation does. My mother picked up the mantle when my grandmother passed away in 1960, and nearly a half-century later, it was my turn.

Mom gave each of her children and grandchildren a special Christmas ornament every year, most of them handmade. She loved to crochet and started working on ornaments and Christmas gifts months before the holiday season. After all, she had several to make and enjoyed every minute. Love was woven in every stitch.

Sometimes, the ornaments were representative of the year, like an Olympics year, for example, or maybe a ballerina or football ornament for children who participated in those activities. The theory was that each child would have a “starter set” of personal Christmas ornaments with loving memories when they fledged from the nest and started their own home with their own Christmas tree.

Mom even taped a tiny year someplace on the ornament, generally on the hanger, so they would know which ornament went with which year.

I thought that was wonderful, so I began to do the same thing.

In addition to making ornaments for my children, I made this ornament for Mom the year she won a Best of Show ribbon at the Indiana State Fair. Mom and I so enjoyed attending those exhibits together, often with grandchildren in tow. That was a red-letter year for her, and she proudly displayed the ornament on her tree, right in the front. Then, 17 years later, I inherited that ornament. It’s bittersweet, of course, but reminds me of our wonderful times together and Mother’s beautiful handwork.

I made and gifted special ornaments each year, not only to my children, but eventually to my grandchildren.

While my children began their adult life with their own ornament set, the next generation wasn’t interested and didn’t even remember that they received ornaments year to year. I tried everything, special boxes, allowing them to select ornaments from my tree that they liked, but nothing worked.

Then, in time, it wasn’t just the ornament tradition that bit the dust, but all of the traditions. Put simply, no one cared. I finally got the message.

That left me with boxes full of Christmas tree ornaments, and two trees. I tried putting the tree up regardless, because – you know – Mom and memories, and she would have liked that. And maybe, just maybe, things would be different this year.

But I sat alone, sadder every year, because there was no family gathering Christmas tradition anymore, despite my continuing efforts. There were no songs, no Christmas smells in the house, and what at one time had been a wonderful, warm tradition became just the opposite. Those ornaments seemed to mock me and served to remind me of pointed absence, not presence.

I dreaded the holidays more each year.

The family had shrunk dramatically and been cleaved into two. One of my adult children continued to come with their spouse and remained engaged, but the silence of the absence of the balance of the family members was deafening.

It’s not like we could pretend that empty chairs weren’t empty.

Then came Covid and unraveled the rest.

Enough is Enough

In some families, Covid, sometimes combined with ugly politics, broke traditions and relationships that haven’t resumed or recovered.

The forced isolation of Covid and traditions shattered by estrangement have continued for many. That situation now exists by choice, not by Covid.

Life is simply too short to continue enduring the repeated pain of rejection, especially for no discernible reason.

Hope is not a strategy, and repeated disappointment evolves into a cycle of ever-deepening grief.

At some point, enough is enough. There needs to be an end to the spiral of recurring pain.

Wishing, hoping, inviting, and even begging simply can’t make people care or succeed in recreating past traditions. People don’t show up if they don’t want to. Recurrent flimsy excuses that really say “I don’t care,” take the place of people. I think guilt then discourages showing up and “facing people” in the future, too, so it’s a self-perpetuating cycle of “can’t bother, don’t care.”

Even if the wished-for people begrudgingly attend, somewhat under duress, or maybe from a sense of obligation, it’s not the same because it’s obvious that they really don’t want to be there. That’s almost worse than absence.

When things no longer work, it’s time to accept that fact, release them, and move on. It’s much like going through the motions in a bad marriage – not good for anyone and never gets better.

For me, that moment arrived when I almost died. I found myself perilously close to death, and in those moments, as life hung perilously in the balance, something inexplicable changed.

Moving

Working from home during Covid provided the opportunity to move – something we had considered for years. We knew it was time to move, and move on.

The next challenge was packing, which means you have to sort through everything and decide what to do with things. Take, leave, give away, sell, or trash. As you come across all those things you boxed up years ago, you relive all of those shallowly buried memories. Ghouls come leaping from the grave.

After consulting with my daughter, I gave away all the Christmas ornaments and both trees to loving homes. I kept a few ornaments – some that Jim and I had purchased on special occasions, those yearly ornaments from Mom, some made by my children, and the ones from my grandmother as well. My daughter will inherit those someday.

The rest just needed to go.

I no longer feel obligated to “try” to recreate traditions that died.

I no longer feel obligated to put up a Christmas tree that simply makes me cry every time I see ornaments that remind me of people, lives, traditions, and relationships that have passed away, either literally or figuratively.

I don’t do any of that anymore.

Life’s too short, and self-care is critically important.

Triggers

Triggers are like unexpectedly poking an old wound. Maybe cracking your shin or crazy bone against something sharp. OUCH!

It seems that we are more susceptible to triggers during the holidays. That’s when holiday decorations, ads, and songs are more in evidence, reminding us of times past whether we want to be reminded or not.

Sometimes, though, triggers are found when and where we least expect them – like in the cedar chest.

This past week, I was ill and wanted to add an extra quilt to the bed, so I grabbed a quilt that one of my friends lovingly made for my small family wedding 20 years ago.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time, asking attendees to sign squares. Each of those yellow centers holds a signature and, often, a message too.

It was late at night, and I was already “sick and tired,” literally. For some reason, I decided to read those squares. It seemed like such a positive thing to do, because it was such a joyful day, and they had been lovingly penned.

What was I thinking? I thought they would be comforting. I should have known better.

As I began, the one signed by my daughter, who stood up with me as my maid of honor, made me smile. There were lovely messages from long-time friends and my quilt sisters.

I saw Mom’s shaky signature, a couple of years before she left us, and that made me both smile and cry. That response didn’t surprise me, but some of the rest did.

Most of the people have either passed away or migrated away. I don’t necessarily mean that in a universally negative sense because, in some cases, it was due to aging and necessary life changes. Even for the best of reasons, it represented a loss of sorts, like Christmas tree lights that dim and wink out one by one.

Sometimes, the reason was darker. Some people died, and in other cases, relationships ended – some horribly and bitterly, inflicting great pain.

But the square that absolutely gutted me was the tiny traced handprint of a child, no longer here. Ripped my heart right out of my chest, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it. Daggers to my soul.

That was it. I folded that quilt up and put it away. I may never unfold it again.

It vividly resurrects all the memories of those now-gone people and traditions in both their glory and deepest tragedy.

We all reach a low at some point, often for unexpected reasons. The proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back, but that does not need to be the end of the story. It’s just the shutting of that door and the opening of another.

Let’s open a door.

New Traditions

I am determined that I will not allow change, even unwelcome or forced change, to defeat me and define my life.

I did not die on that life-changing day, nor with those traditions, relationships, or those people. Those who love or loved me would not want me to, and the rest don’t matter.

Let me say that again, THE REST DON’T MATTER.

I’m still here, relatively healthy, and living the next chapter of life in beautiful surroundings.

Yes, Thanksgiving is on the calendar, and so is Christmas. You can’t miss those dates or events. There will be Thanksgiving dinner, but just for me, Jim, and maybe a friend or two – and that’s now fine.

Yes, just fine.

My daughter and I have mutually agreed to release old habits and make glorious new ones that better suit our lives now. Or, maybe just the tradition of enjoying the moment whenever it occurs. Let’s face it: travel is brutal in the middle of the winter, so we select easier, less-crowded times.

There will be no traditional Christmas tree, for either me or her. And guess what, that’s not only absolutely fine, it’s cathartic and a relief. This is my Charlie Brown Christmas tree now, and I love it. It comes with no hassle and no tears.

Our small remaining family has decided that gifts will no longer be exchanged during the holiday season. We will simply do things for each other during the year, as the opportunity arises and we see something a family member would enjoy.

For example, my daughter and I took a glorious trip together this summer.

Art, gardens, parks, dogs, eagles, moose, coffee, luscious food in little-known quaint restaurants and family – how does it get better???

Sometimes, surprise boxes arrive. That’s such fun. I’m now the proud human adopter of a rescued manatee, Ariel.

Here’s the beautiful part. We are both very much looking forward to our next adventure together – not dreading the holidays.

We will embark on a wonderful journey soon, together, on a white sand beach in a place neither of us ever imagined. I can hardly wait.

No more dreading the holidays and trying to breathe life into dead traditions. She’s probably relieved, too.

We’re free.

It wasn’t easy or immediate, but…

We. Are. Free.

We are no longer adrift or cast away on a sea of grief.

Just Breathe

Today, I can breathe instead of grieve. No more tightness of dread in my chest, increasing each day as the holidays approach, knowing assuredly that things will go wrong, just not how this year. No more fighting back hot, unwelcome tears from mid-November to New Year’s when the holidays are finally over.

Now that I’ve found peace in embracing change, it no longer feels like chronic loss, but a stream of new opportunities to be enjoyed. The joy is being spread in different, less traditional ways.

The past no longer binds me. It wasn’t working any more.

As for Christmas Day, I’m starting a new tradition for myself. I’m going to walk on the beach and feel the salty breeze in my hair. Either alone or with Jim.

No one else will be there. I will commune with Mom and Dad, my brother Dave, my sister Edna, my cousin Cheryl, and the rest of those I’ve loved and lost.

They will be with me there, gliding with the gulls on the ocean breeze.

With immense gratitude, I’ll remember my ancestors who survived incredibly difficult journeys. Without them, I wouldn’t have this priceless opportunity to live and make a difference in other people’s lives.

I will be thankful for those opportunities and send positive energy into the universe for the earth and her people.

I’ll lift a prayer for peace and unity, which we so desperately need right now.

But I won’t, I will NOT grieve the past. I’ve had that funeral, and it’s at rest now.

I, too, will be at peace.

Your Turn

Put whatever brings you pain to rest and release it so that you can make space to breathe in the new.

You’re not obligated to uphold old traditions. Don’t stay trapped in what no longer works.

This is a labyrinth, not a maze.

There’s a way out, an exit, an off-ramp.

Your ancestors will help you. They walk with you in unseen ways, offering guidance and wisdom.

Move on to something new, more suited to you.

Give yourself permission.

Release yourself from the pain of the past.

Create beautiful, new, imaginative traditions, or none at all.

Either is fine.

When life gives you scraps, make quilts.

Find or make something new and joyful.

Allow yourself flights of fancy and to dream.

The sky is not the limit.

There is no limit.

And breathe.

Just breathe.

Help With Inspirational Positivity

What we view interacts with our brain. As a quilter, I’m very aware of how color and pattern make us feel. The images I used in the section above were created with that in mind. How did they make you feel?

If you’re having trouble feeling positive, and who doesn’t from time to time, motivational or inspirational images will help. AI is your friend, so let’s give it a try.

If you subscribe to ChatGPT 4, enter a request into DALL-E, the image generator. If you don’t subscribe to ChatGPT, my favorite, use a free image generator. You can ask ChatGPT’s free version for free AI image generators to get started, or you can try DALL-E for free through Bing’s Image Creator, here. Personally, I think the $20 a month for ChatGPT 4, which includes Dall-E, is well worth the investment, even if you just use it for one month for a daily dose of positivity during a difficult time.

Ask ChatGPT 4’s DALL-E or your AI generator of choice to create an inspirational image. You may or may not provide more direct or additional instructions. You can even just google.

I asked DALL-E to “create a picture by interpreting the phrase, ‘when life gives you scraps, make beautiful quilts’.”

Next, I included a photo of myself as a young person and asked ChatGPT to “put the person in a positive and inspirational setting with a labyrinth.”

ChatGPT doesn’t use people’s photos, but it generates images with likenesses. This is what I received. I can continue refining this image by asking ChatGPT to change it or by submitting a new request. (Please note that ChatGPT’s image generator is sometimes overburdened, and you have to wait a bit and try later.)

Be sure to include words in the instructions like “uplifting, “positive,” “ethereal”, “beautiful,” or “colorful.”

Next, I asked Dall-E to add a quilt theme to the same labyrinth image, above.

ChatGPT’s DALL-E doesn’t always follow directions exactly, but I must admit, I really love this, and now I want to make it as a quilt.

If you’re in a difficult space and can do nothing else right now, utilize ChatGPT, other AI image generators, Pixabay or even Google to bombard yourself with positive, hopeful images of your new or imagined life.

I’m serious.

Inspiration comes from many places, and beautiful images lift our spirits.

You WILL feel better.

Happy Holidays

Thanksgiving week begins now, so gird your loins if you need to, and maybe consider something novel. If you’re concerned about Thanksgiving dinner going off the rails, CNN’s newsletter today, here, provided a list of “20 Questions to Spark Gratitude.” It’s a thoughtful piece and worth taking a look, even if you don’t need it for Thanksgiving. I exchanged answers with Jim, which was fun, and we both learned something.

I asked ChatGPT for nontraditional Thanksgiving celebration ideas, and it suggested a barbeque or picnic celebration on a beach, a craft day, or a gratitude scavenger hunt.

You can ask the free version of ChatGPT for ideas, too.

I wish you the happiest of holidays over the next few weeks, no matter how you do, or don’t, decide to celebrate.

Please do something that brings YOU joy.

_____________________________________________________________

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DNA Purchases and Free Uploads

• FamilyTreeDNA – Y, mitochondrial and autosomal DNA testing
• MyHeritage DNA – Autosomal DNA test
• MyHeritage FREE DNA file upload – Upload your DNA file from other vendors free
• AncestryDNA – Autosomal DNA test
• AncestryDNA Plus Traits

Genealogy Products and Services

• MyHeritage FREE Tree Builder – Genealogy software for your computer
• MyHeritage Subscription with Free Trial
• Legacy Family Tree Webinars – Genealogy and DNA classes, subscription-based, some free
• Legacy Family Tree Software – Genealogy software for your computer
• Newspapers.com – Search newspapers for your ancestors
• NewspaperArchive – Search different newspapers for your ancestors

My Book

• DNA for Native American Genealogy – by Roberta Estes, for those ordering the e-book from anyplace, or paperback within the United States
• DNA for Native American Genealogy – for those ordering the paperback outside the US

Genealogy Books

• Genealogical.com – Lots of wonderful genealogy research books
• American Ancestors – Wonderful selection of genealogy books

Genealogy Research

• Legacy Tree Genealogists – Professional genealogy research

If you’re a descendant of George Estes (1763-1859), Revolutionary War Veteran who lived and died in Halifax County, VA, you’re invited to the dedication of his gravestone. I wrote about George’s life and service, here.

The Dan River Chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution is holding a dedication ceremony for George and his new gravestone on Sunday, October 21^st, 2023 at 11 AM in the Oak Ridge Cemetery in South Boston, Virginia.

Dwight Spangler worked with local cousin, Mark Estes, and the Graves Preservation Committee of the Dan River SAR chapter to compile the necessary documentation to request a marker from the VA.

Documenting the location was challenging because the family moved George’s grave before the City demolished the structures on the premises, along with the cemetery, for both the landfill and the Water Department.

The graves were moved to Oak Ridge Cemetery, literally across the street, where the Estes family owned a block of graves. According to family member, Shirley Whtilow, whose father was actually one of the men who moved the graves, Estes family members who lived on the original land, including George, were reburied in the family plot in Oak Ridge.

After George’s stone arrived, Mark installed it in the Estes cemetery plot, almost directly across from Estes Street where the original land, cemetery and homestead were located.

Mark provided the location where George’s marker has been installed. Notice Estes Street directly across from George’s grave in the Estes plot. It’s possible that Oak Ridge Cemetery was established in the 1880s on Estes land.

To attend George’s ceremony, use the Cemetery entrance on North Main Street, just north of Hamilton Blvd.

In the photo above, the purple semi at right is sitting on Estes Street, waiting to turn on Main Street. The Main Street entrance to the cemetery is shown above. The surrounding walls were constructed using cobblestones from the early South Boston streets, some of which may well have been laid by George himself. He worked on several road crews.

It’s somehow fitting that George’s family will meet in the Estes plot in the cemetery, across the street from his home where he resided after returning home from the Revolutionary War, protected with a wall salvaged from the roads on which he worked.

It may be 164 years after George was originally buried, and probably nearly a century after he was reburied – but it’s happening. George finally has a stone. And we, his descendants, have the opportunity to honor his life, including not one, not two, but three tours of duty in the Revolutionary War. Hope to see you there.

Please let me know if you’re planning to attend.

Acknowledgements and Thank Yous

On behalf of all of George’s descendants, I would like to thank both the SAR and Dwight Spangler. I extend my deepest appreciation to cousin Mark Estes, along with my now-deceased cousins, all of whom were descendants of George’s daughter, Suzanne Estes, through son Ezekiel Estes (1814-1885), then son Henry Archer Estes (1857-1934).

Doug Estes (1925-2019), Shirley Estes Whitlow (1926-2014), and Nancy Dunkley Osborne (1936-2008) were first cousins to each other. They not only graciously shared our family history when I visited Halifax County twenty+ years ago, but helped me piece it back together.

Shirley’s father, William “Willy” Fife Estes (1892-1984) helped move the graves, so Shirley knew where the remains had been reburied. Shirley drew a map, showing me where the Estes homes and cemetery were originally located. She took me to the Estes cemetery plots in Oak Ridge. Nancy showed me where George’s grandfather, Moses Estes (1711-1787), lived, and she cleaned and maintained the original Estes stones in Oak Ridge Cemetery. Doug shared several family stories with me, including details about the original Estes land and reburials. Doug and Shirley visited the original Estes farm, and played on the Estes land in the 1930s, before the main house burned in 1933 and the land was sold or leased to the City.

_____________________________________________________________

Follow DNAexplain on Facebook, here.

Share the Love!

You’re always welcome to forward articles or links to friends and share on social media.

If you haven’t already subscribed (it’s free,) you can receive an email whenever I publish by clicking the “follow” button on the main blog page, here.

You Can Help Keep This Blog Free

I receive a small contribution when you click on some of the links to vendors in my articles. This does NOT increase the price you pay but helps me to keep the lights on and this informational blog free for everyone. Please click on the links in the articles or to the vendors below if you are purchasing products or DNA testing.

Thank you so much.

DNA Purchases and Free Uploads

• FamilyTreeDNA – Y, mitochondrial and autosomal DNA testing
• MyHeritage DNA – Autosomal DNA test
• MyHeritage FREE DNA file upload – Upload your DNA file from other vendors free
• AncestryDNA – Autosomal DNA test
• AncestryDNA Plus Traits
• 23andMe Ancestry – Autosomal DNA only, no Health
• 23andMe Ancestry Plus Health

Genealogy Products and Services

• MyHeritage FREE Tree Builder – Genealogy software for your computer
• MyHeritage Subscription with Free Trial
• Legacy Family Tree Webinars – Genealogy and DNA classes, subscription-based, some free
• Legacy Family Tree Software – Genealogy software for your computer
• Newspapers.com – Search newspapers for your ancestors
• NewspaperArchive – Search different newspapers for your ancestors

My Book

• DNA for Native American Genealogy – by Roberta Estes, for those ordering the e-book from anyplace, or paperback within the United States
• DNA for Native American Genealogy – for those ordering the paperback outside the US

Genealogy Books

• Genealogical.com – Lots of wonderful genealogy research books
• American Ancestors – Wonderful selection of genealogy books

Genealogy Research

• Legacy Tree Genealogists – Professional genealogy research