Fisher Family, 1941

My family is close. I don’t mean just my immediate family, I mean the whole Fisher clan. From grandparents to third cousins – we’re close. It’s a legacy handed down from my great-grandparents who raised 7 children and managed to keep them all (sons and daughters) close even when they married, moved away and had families of their own.

The next generation raised their children in much the same way, staying close to their siblings and drawing brother and sister-in-laws into the family. Several of the brothers farmed together so the cousins grew up as siblings.

My love of stories was born of this family. I grew up on stories of trips to Florida, a monkey named Coco, bank robbers and watermelon thieves. Even now, when I’m reading a good book, I can hear the words as though my father is speaking. His low mellow voice catching on the words, transporting me into the story.

I love the family stories and through the years have collected not only the told stories, but some of the untold ones as well. I’ve had 40 years with my paternal grandparents. Forty years of Christmases, family reunions, summers on the farm, camping trips… and family stories.

Until last week, what I would have told you about my grandparents is that they equal parts stubborn and committed. There was never any question that when they said “till death us do part” they meant it. …come hell or high water, and in their 70 years together they saw plenty of both!

What I could see were the scars they carried, both big (losing a son and two grandsons) and small, (grandma’s sensitivity about her weight and grandpa withdrawing as his keen mind began to fail him). I saw the  brusque demeanor that they displayed towards each other and mistook it for an emotional coolness.

What I could not not see was the beautiful shorthand they’d developed between them. Meaning transferred in a glance or through a whisper of a touch. They knew one another in ways no one else in this world could. The tenderness that passed between them was deep and mostly unseen.

I was so fortunate to be with my grandparents in their final parting. For a moment, the veil dropped and I could finally see the depth of tenderness between them. Watching this provided a sort of translation for me, rewriting some of the stories and the putting a little twist on the moments I’ve observed over the years.

What I’ve learned? Some of the best things in this life are mostly unspoken, unseen.