Dear Friends,
One hundred years ago, Thomas and Katherine Fagan had their first of nine children on a farm near a small town in Wisconsin. They went on to have eight more children who, in turn, gave them 36 grandchildren.
I am one of those grandchildren; nearly the youngest even though I am the daughter of that first child, David Fagan, born in 1918. My parents were older when they had me. I was number six, and “a pleasant surprise.”
My grandfather, Thomas, moved to California after his wife, Katherine, died from a botched appendectomy at the age of 52. The story goes that the doctor was drunk when he operated on her. Thomas still had 13-year-old twin daughters in the house, so he sold the family home and moved across the country to live with his older daughters in San Gabriel, California, who helped raise their little sisters.
My father, the oldest, had already moved to California. At the end of WWII, he put “California” as his home on his army discharge form and was given a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, and never looked back.
One of those original nine children ended up living in Chicago and had nine children of her own. Another moved to Texas. So, I have cousins in Illinois, Wisconsin, Texas, Florida (Chicago transplants), California, Colorado, Arizona and India! Of the original 36 cousins, 33 are still alive.
Seven years ago, after my father and mother had passed and many of my father’s siblings were dying, I started to connect the “Fagan” cousins, some of whom had not seen one another for decades, if at all. We organized an annual gathering on Balboa Island in Southern California, a childhood vacation spot for many of us.
Last year was our largest gathering yet, with cousins traveling from Chicago, Wisconsin, Florida and Texas to join us. This year, we decided to gather in Wisconsin, and re-connect with the second homeland of our ancestors (The first homeland being Ireland and Scotland).
Today I’m sitting on a porch overlooking a lake in central Wisconsin. My aunt, one of the twins who is 16 years younger than my father, is next to me. She and her sister are the only living siblings from the original nine. Yesterday, a large group of us Fagan descendants went to the small town of Lyndon Station to see the home my grandfather built “in town,” after they moved away from the family farm. We also went to the Catholic cemetery to see the many Fagan gravestones, going back to my great-great-grandparents in the 1800s.
House built by Thomas Fagan in the 1930s.
Gravestone of Katherine and Thomas Fagan
Last night we were out at a fish fry restaurant being merry. I met my oldest cousin, Charlie, from Chicago, for the very first time in my memory. He is 75-years-old and a grandfather of six. Five of his siblings are at this reunion as well, with their children and their children’s children in some cases.
It’s amazing how much we have in common even though we grew up in such different worlds. There is never a quiet moment. Just a few brave in-laws joined this gathering, as to be with a gaggle of Fagans can be quite intimidating, and noisy! Besides the gift of gab, there is also the propensity towards “the drink,” adding even more volume and passion to the conversation.
One thing we did not talk about was politics. Amen. Inevitably there are opposing views that reflect our divided country. And like a divided country, there are the many stories of misunderstandings and hurt feelings between siblings of large families, mine included.
This morning I accompanied my aunt, who is a Catholic nun, to church. It was the first time I had been to Mass in many years. The rituals are familiar and comforting on some level. I have long since let go of the resentment I had against the Church.
I LOVED seeing an altar GIRL serving at this Mass. When I was in 5th grade in Catholic school, I sent a petition signed by most of my classmates to Pope Paul VI requesting he grant girls the right to be altar servers. It was another 20 years before the Vatican officially approved girls serving at the altar during Catholic Masses, but I like to think my activism had a tiny influence on that decision.
Though I am mostly of Irish origin, I recently learned that one of my great-great-grandfathers heralded from Scotland, and was a cousin of the famous Scottish poet, Robert Burns.
With a nod towards my heritage, and a balm for the complexity of large Catholic families, here is a poem for siblings from the Irish poet John O’Donohue:
For A Brother Or A Sister
The knowing that binds us
Is older than the apostrophe of cell
We formed from within the one womb.
All that flowed into us there
From the red village of ancestry
Sowed spores of continuity
That would one day flower
Into flickers of resemblance:
An unconscious gesture
Could echo an ancestor,
And the look of us stir
Recognition of belong
That is ours alone;
And our different finding
Its own rhythm of strangeness,
Leading us deeper into a self
That would always know its own
Regardless of difficulty and distance;
And through hurt no other could inflict;
Still somehow beside each other
Though the night is dark
With wind that loves
To clean the bones of ruins,
Making further room for light.
Some thoughts from this weekend, as I watch my two daughters bathe in the light of the extended family:
- Life is too short to hold on to past grudges, especially with family. We ALL make mistakes. Forgive.
- Time changes us all in ways, so if it has been a while since you’ve connected with a family member, consider giving it another try!
- Seek out the beauty in each other, and respect the differences without focusing on them.
- It’s not really about “blood.” Many members of our family are not related by blood, and are still as much family as the rest.
The tapestry of my life is richer today because of the deepening relationships I am nurturing with my cousins and their families.
With love to all families,
Barbara Fagan-Smith
CEO, ROI Communication
Chief Catalyst, Living ROI
I created Living ROI as a passion, to share what I’ve learned and support others who want to live more authentic, joyful and fulfilling lives. Please visit our website.
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