My father, Robert Milo Wallin (1923-1993) spent nearly all
of his life thinking he was the oldest child in his family. But things aren’t always what they seem to be,
particularly in genealogy.
Dad was born in Nebraska in 1923, in a hospital rather than
at home—very unusual for that place and time.
As the years went by, he was joined by Helen in 1926, Richard in 1927,
and then little Janet in 1932.
From early childhood, a big part of Robert’s identity was
his position as oldest child. He was a
typical firstborn—responsible, mature, hardworking, serious—a liaison between
the adults and the younger kids, trying to set a good example. (Those of you who are firstborn, as I am,
know what I mean.) He went off to World
War II, writing letters home to his parents and younger siblings—reassuring his
parents and sisters and trying to keep his brother from ending up on the front
lines like he was. (A story for another day.)
The years went by, until Dad was a businessman in his
sixties, applying for a passport so he could attend a conference in
London. Part of the process was
obtaining a certified copy of his birth certificate—and when it arrived, there
it was in black and white: “Number of
children of this mother born alive and now living -1. Born alive but now dead -1.”
Dad then remembered hearing long-ago whispers among his
aunts about a baby girl who died. And suddenly
he understood the likely reason his mother went to a hospital when he was born
(and a good thing, since he was a breach birth). Why hadn’t his older sister ever been talked
about openly as he was growing up? Why
wasn’t she remembered, and mourned?
Probably because it wasn’t the Swedish way to “dwell on the past” or
“stir up sad memories.” So, Dad let it
lie, and now he is gone, too… Recently I
decided it was time to find out more, if I could.
Although my father died many years ago, his youngest sister
is still alive. I asked her what she
knew about this mysterious child, and she said that she had heard whispers,
too—but she had always been too hesitant to bring up the subject with her
mother. She asked that I let her know
what I found out. It seemed like I
wasn’t the only one who wanted to know more.
Then I went to my favorite resource for vital records info and followed the instructions for
obtaining old Nebraska birth and death records.
No luck there, however. I was
told that neither event was recorded—or if they were, the records are lost now.
I wish I could have discovered more about this little baby
girl, who was my aunt. But this is one
sad event from long ago that seems destined remain a mystery.
Interesting mystery. If birth records don't help, how about cemetery records?
ReplyDeleteDon't know where she's buried, but I'll poke around...
Delete