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I thought of another one. The guy creeped me out and made me mad. I was rather indignant over a guy from 100 years ago.
I knew my great great aunt had been married to an old man, but then I finally found her info. She was 20 and the guy was 60. He apparently had pursued her for 3 years until he pressured her into marrying him. I found a newspaper article where he had her arrested for bigamy when she was fleeing to another state to live and get a job. She married him and left after a couple of months. I then found the first wife's obituary. First died in a cooking accident where her clothes caught on fire and she was burned head to toe. Husband had her moved to another county several miles away where she died days later. That must have been a painful ride and death. Then husband married my great great aunt. I can't find records, but marriage must have been annulled or there was a divorce. Husband married a third time a year or so after that and third wife ended up in the insane asylum. All three wives had something horrible happen to him and he was the common factor.
I was proud of my great great aunt. She rebelled. Technically, she escaped. She ended up with the second husband. Hopefully, she was happy with him. She had a baby a year later. He was stillborn because he was too big to be born. She died a few days later of an infection from the birth.
I don't get worked up about this stuff. History is full of horrific events and nobody is immune. The closest I ever got to being upset was reading the will of my gr-gr-grandfather and the downright horrible things he said about his wife and why she should be cut off without a penny. He put it all in his will. She was the mother of his kids and still had three young ones to raise but he was going to turn her out with nothing. He said she was a drunk yet he owned and ran the tavern and had several kids by her (2nd wife). She appealed to the probate court and they awarded her a homestead of the family house and a garden plot. An older son by the first marriage was executor and supported her request. Everything else was sold off.
1.) My maternal grandmother died long before I was born, and my grandfather had gone back to Canada and married another woman, whom he brought back to the U.S. I liked her very much growing up. Her four stepdaughters were very ambivalent about her when I was a kid. Considering her good nature I was rather puzzled. I found out that she had been my grandfather's first sweetheart whom he had jilted to marry my grandmother, who turned out to be a shrew and a cold mother. When his daughters found out about the first relationship, they were very upset as they realized that he had not forgotten her while married to their mother.
2.) My granduncle, who had served in several battles in WWI, shot a younger man in public whom he claimed was his wife's lover (and unfortunately, accidentally shot a man who attempted to disarm him afterward.) He was charged with murder and went through two trials, the judges made it clear to the juries that there was no allowance in Canada for a crimes of passion. There was only my granduncle's assertions that the relationship existed in any case. (Neither side requested his wife as a witness, and she actually quietly left town as it turned out.)
On the last day of the 2nd trial his attorney had the coroner called to the stand and casually inquired about the alleged dead lover's clothing and other effects that were part of the prosecution evidence. When the coroner mentioned letters in the dead man's suit pocket, the lawyer casually asked to see them. He showed the envelopes to my granduncle and asked him if he recognized the handwriting. He identified it as his wife's. The lawyer requested to read them in court, and as they were part of the evidence the judge could not refuse without creating a legal problem. The letter was a steamy one, and the lawyer requested permission to read another, which the judge had to grant. More of the same. The jury returned a verdict of manslaughter, not murder. This infuriated the judge who chastised the jury and gave a sentence of life imprisonment. My granduncle served about twenty years. (I put all this together from the numerous news stories that appears in the papers.)
3.) My maternal grt grt grandparents were Protestants from Co. Tyrone who elected to leave as their landlord kept raising the rents. The first boat they started out for Canada on foundered, but made it back to shore. So, they took another ship and near the end of the journey, in sight of land, the husband and one of the young children died. They were buried in what is now Montreal. His wife and the rest of the family continued south to Ontario where she had distant relatives. They were met and started inland, but as they were crossing a floating bridge the colt on which a young son was riding reared, the boy was thrown into the water and drowned beneath the logs of the bridge. The journey to a better life had left her a widow with two recently dead young boys. (This comes from information that their youngest child gave to relatives for a family reunion shortly before she died.)
4.) I also discovered that my mother and father married each other twice. They secretly ran away and were married by a Presbyterian minister (neither family knew of this), and then were married again in my father's somewhat more distant hometown by a Catholic priest a few weeks later (her father was in ignorance of this ceremony as well.) His family was in ignorance of the previous Protestant ceremony And then, in what I believe was a very calculated move my mother told the people she was boarding with about the secret marriages. They were, not incidentally I believe, her parents' best friends, and in doing so avoided telling her father herself, but more importantly this aborted my father's plans for their immediate future. And it all went downhill from there.
For me; genealogy research does not result in just one emotion; it's usually a combination. This example started out sad but resulted in my feeling validated so I could call it "one of" the saddest:
Probably this last stretch of research, when everything hinged on my finding the branch of the family tree that had endured a very specific cause of infant mortality.
Hemolytic disease typically kills within hours of birth but sometimes can leave a profoundly ill child to struggle for weeks or months & only the firstborn will survive. I started out asking the question; “Who was the mother of an only child?” Answer: “Nobody”.
Genealogy research can be difficult & requires some dedication. It required that I become familiar with certain specifics of both American & World History, as well as the cultural norms of certain religions & ethnic groups. When without a clear, written record; I chased theory, intuition & hunches; that many times led nowhere & other times led me right to my answer which had been hiding in plain sight the whole time.
The larger the mark an ancestor had left in this world; the easier they were to find but I could proceed no farther until I could “find” those that had no chance to leave a mark. It became a Quest; with me staying up late at night searching & thinking; “Where are you; little ones? “
That’s what did it: They stopped being a name in ink or a number in a log. They became … a baby & the mother in me took over.
I’m a parent who has buried a child. My biggest fear was that she would be forgotten & this changes you forever. It matters not that this child will never go to school, have birthday parties, entertain their elders, get married & bear your grandchildren, etc…They were here. And you were their mother. You can never go back ; you will always be a mother who buried their child.
When I’m asked; “How many children do you have?” I say “Eleven”. Not “Ten”. I’ve seen her face every day of my life since she died in 1994. She has impacted how I care for her siblings, how I prioritize family vs. money or “stuff”, the months & days & seasons of every year … She was here.
I had been asking the wrong question. I wasn’t looking for the mother of an only child: I was looking for the mother who had been buried by only one child; after a lifetime of proudly declaring themselves the mother of many.
I found them about 15 minutes after I changed my question; right in plain sight the whole time. I wish I could go back in time & give them a hug & tell them that in 140 years I would find their little Emily & her baby brother Amel. That they would be remembered. They were not forgotten.
Coschristi, your story just about has me in tears! A cousin of mine has a baby that, just shy of her 1st birthday, passed away. She was born early (micro preemie), because my cousin got preeclampsia and they had to do an emergency c section to save her. Her sweet little uncomplaining girl was born with muliple issues, the worst being pulmonary hypertension. She never knew life off of machines, but every picture my cousin took of her has her smiling and giggling ( LOVE baby giggles) She was growing and turning into such a big girl, but tragically she developed sepsis from an infection caused by her feeding tube, and it took her very quickly and with almost no warning. My cousin remembers her every day and started a foundation in memory of her and 2 of her angel baby friends. Your story reminds me of what she has said, that she is still a mom (It'll be about 2 years ago in a few months that her daughter passed).
My family was always pretty close knit, but keeping a couple names is problematic when the grandfather is Tom, with son's Jonathan and Tom, and son Jonathan had son's Jonathan and Tom, and son Tom had son's Tom and Jonathan......
I was able to get good enough proof of my 6x g-grandfather for the Son's of the American Revolution to know he was one of the 400 Militia that stopped the British at the battle of the Concord bridge, and served in the Patriot line that laid siege to Boston at the time of the Battle of Bunker Hill. That's pretty humbling. That branch of the family goes back to the Mayflower.
One of my other many times g-grandfathers joined his local militia and may have fought at Saratoga, but the funny part was, he was in his 30s during the Revolution, and when the War of 1812 broke out, he went back as a 60 year old man and joined the Militia again!!
They kicked him out the next day, but he was ready and willing to whup em again!!!
2 Members of my father's family died at Andersonville prison camp, Civil War, my father's great grandfather on my grandmother's side lost both his feet in that war.
My mother's side came here in 1632. One of my g-grandfathers in that line fought in Rodger's Rangers during the French and Indian War, and raised his own Militia during the Revolution.
If you go back farther, Members of my family fought with Cromwell in the Puritan's vs Royalty civil war that deposed the British monarchy.
I wish I could have met those old warriors. They were strong men in hard times, but they stood up for what they believed, no matter the cost or hardship. I'm very proud of them, and strive to be worthy of their legacy.
So what emotion do I have learning about my ancestors? I am humbled, proud, and determined to continue their legacy.
Discovering that one of my 4th great grandfather's literally fought for his freedom, serving in the 14 Heavy Artillery division of the U.S. Colored Troops out of New Bern, NC during the American Civil War.
Discovering that this same 4th great grandfather, who was listed as mulatto on following census records as were many of my other relatives in the region, likely fought against white relatives serving on the confederate side of the battle.
For me; genealogy research does not result in just one emotion; it's usually a combination.
I totally agree. I was just saying how my answer in this thread caused me a sense of hatred and then a lot of questions, most of which were wanting understanding.
So far, I can trace 3 branches of my ancestors to their known slaveholders. Of those three lines, I show kinship to one of them and I am certain that another line had some sort of kinship due to post-Emancipation relationships. The known ancestor and I just recently emailed with each other 3 days ago and have known about each other for many years and communicate often. We know exactly who, what, and how it happened with no pretense. Down to the slave rolls, we know.
My desire to know my past now allows for me to deal with the ugly. It's a work in progress but I do try to keep it in perspective in today's world.
To share a less tense emotional memory, seeing my grandfather's WW2 draft records and knowing that all those years later, he received a military burial meant a lot to me.
I was so frustrated when I found six of my ancestors all named John Brown living in the same house...fathers, sons, uncles, cousins?? Who the hell are you people?? To make it worse, three of them had apparently married three women from the same Smith family. I wanted to kick that house down.
But I got over it.
Was this by any chance after the John Brown raid on Harpers Ferry?
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She was growing and turning into such a big girl, but tragically she developed sepsis from an infection caused by her feeding tube, and it took her very quickly and with almost no warning. My cousin remembers her every day and started a foundation in memory of her and 2 of her angel baby friends. Your story reminds me of what she has said, that she is still a mom (It'll be about 2 years ago in a few months that her daughter passed).
