While I was ignoring the blog these past 33 days, I thought about all of the stories I've been told about my ancestors. I'm sure there are hundreds passed just from my grandparents to my mom, to me. Less on my dad's side, but time will change that. The stories are there, but they've yet to be told. Then, I got to thinking about how many stories are lost with each succeeding generation, and how those losses are unrecoverable. They will never be discovered at an estate sale, in an attic, in an old trunk, or buried in the ground. How many stories have been lost as each generation died? Innumerable. I've begun a story log. It's a Word document with tales I've been told about my parents, grandparents, and great grandparents. Truth be damned. I'm recording them as told to me.
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| Sarah J. Criss |
So in celebration, I'm sharing a story, as told by my grandmother to me, about one of my great grandmothers, Sarah J. Criss. It's a simple story told in exactly one sentence; brief, barely a story at all. Grandmother told me that she met Sarah, but she was bedridden by that time. So this was probably about 1935.
That's it, but it's important. It's the only story I know about her. It's the only story
anyone knows about her.
Sarah is one of the mysteries on my tree. She is recorded in the census and in city directories in two states, Texas and Colorado, over the course of 92 years. There is plenty of information on her children, but nothing is known of her parents, or siblings. Similarly, Sarah's husband, Jon, has no documentable ancestry. I don't even know her maiden name.
And perhaps this is one of my specific reasons for creating a story log, or for my interest in genealogy and family history. All of the stories about her, save for one, are lost and unrecoverable; and only two people on this earth know that one story.
