Moving On.

 Ed’s house is sold, and the court date to finally end probate is/was today. A document shredding event is finally being put on again by my Thrivent chapter, along with a food drive for the local charitable food pantry, on Saturday. I am boxing and bagging up my own long accumulated  shredding, as well as the last of what I had left from Ed’s. The estate sale/clean up people took care of a lot, but I had stuff to hang on to for a bit, and some to go through. I am, at last, to be released from having custody of it. 

I have pulled everything from the garage and my den, and am checking to make sure there’s nothing of consequence. Lots of old docs of no use, but that shouldn’t be thrown into a recycling bin. One box was of letters and Christmas cards from friends and family, going back to 1970. Mostly nothing major, but still a time capsule of what used to be.  I found out a couple of things I either hadn’t known or had forgotten. He was a conscientious objector, which I’m pretty sure I didn’t know. A number of letters from old high school friends, off at college. Cards from some people I knew back in the beginning of our life together, their friendships with me long past, casualties of our divorce.   A number of letters from his “Gram” (his mother’s mother), then already long a widow, and now long gone.  She sent him money, when his family went through a hard financial time. I remember her as a force of nature, but didn’t really know how much she had helped. 

I had forgotten that he and Mike Flint cleaned office buildings at night while he went to Santa Ana college. Then he went to work for the IRS, and was slowly going to school at night to complete his degree, but never did. He did all right for himself, retiring early, and with an excellent pension. 

I found the docs from when we were looking at buying a historic home for renovation and moving to Anaheim’s Heritage Square, which I had forgotten about. I’m glad we didn’t get it. It would probably still be unimproved, as his house was. 

Anyway, I’m ready to not be custodian of his memories. Day after tomorrow, the bulk of them go. 

Bon voyage. 

My heritage.

 Every time I watch, as I am tonight, Finding Your Roots on PBS, I am reminded of the nearly 1/4 of my DNA that I am not fully informed on. 

Sometime back, when I got my DNA tested , I discovered that 21-24% of it is Ashkenazi Jewish. I thought at first that it might be in my German background in my mother’s side, but we tested her, and it is not. My brother tests the same as I do, so it is in my father’s side. DNA family in my fathers mothers side shows none, so it would have to be his father, my paternal grandfather.  He separated from my grandmother in my father’s infant or toddlerhood, and, according to my father, told his mother that he did not want to see him. My father wrote him off, and never met him as far as we know. His mother married his stepfather when he was 6, and my father went by his last name until he joined the Navy at 16, when his birth certificate reflected his birth father’s name. 

I have a fairly extensive family tree on his birth father’s last name. However, none of them reflect linked dna to that last name. His parents married when she was already pregnant, him having been born 7 months after they went to the Santa Ana Courthouse and lied about her age. She was 16 and he was 20, but the license says that she was 18. Their mothers were friends, my GG Elizabeth and Olive Worley Haynes.  They obviously married to make my father legitimate, and they separated very soon after his birth.  Until the DNA results, it didn’t occur to me that my father’s biological father might not be the man in his birth certificate. 

It took a long time to find dna relatives on that side who were closely enough related to provide any kind of clue  I found second cousins to me who were half siblings to each other (a pair of full sisters, and their half brother).   Their shared father was estranged from them, too.  They did not grow up with his name, either. Eventually one of the sisters was able to give me her father’s mother’s maiden name.  This led me to a Jewish family of Russian origin (Brill) from NY, who had one son move out to So Cal and raise sons.  One of them may well be my father’s biological father.  

More convoluted than that is the fact that my father’s own paternal grandfather may not be as advertised, based on DNA breadcrumbs that relate me to a Poole family.  My GG and her daughter, my grandmother, parted from their children’s named fathers very early, and no one seems to have had contact with them again. All this came to my knowledge long after anyone who might have any of them died.  My father is 20 years gone, and was the only child of an only child.  My mother knows what he told her, and what he believed to be true.  The only thing that bugs me about disavowing my Haynes paternal line is that the only pics we have of his named father shows a strong resemblance. Curiouser and curiouser.  

I can only guess at what my father’s opinion might have been of these discoveries. He might have discounted them, it might have reconciled him to his “father’s” abandonment.  

The search continues. I may yet find Haynes distant cousins, who knows.  We are certainly legally Hayneses, whether or not we are biologically related to the ones named in our original tree.  

In every true sense, we are Hayneses, because of the family my parents built.  They married 6 months into college, he was 21 and she was 17.  He had been out of his parent’s house since he was 16, getting his mother to sign off on his joining the Navy.  His mother had been in a tuberculosis sanitarium for nearly two years, and he had enough of his stepfather. Mom had been a child dancer and actor, quit to help her mother recover from a breakdown, graduating early from high school, entering college at 16.  Neither had a typical childhood, and they made a family between them, raising the three of us in the San Fernando Valley in the 50s-70s.  They raised three decent self sufficient kids, and were happy with how we turned out.  

I remain fascinated by my dna questions and mysteries, but know that my core family is who I’ve always known they were.  

Almost time to say goodbye.

 Ed’s house is clean, renovated, ready for sale. It is an enormous relief to walk though it, especially if you’ve been there from the start. It’s been 11 months since he died, 11 months since I went over to have the locks changed. This last weekend was the second of two Open Houses. It’s actually very nice. It’s sad that he never got to enjoy the house in this state. 

I hope it will sell before we hit a year. Who knew how long it would be? I’m glad I didn’t. At least we are on this side of it.  I hope that when it sells, he will Rest In Peace, and the new owners will bring it life, a new soul. 

The mail has been forwarded to Liz, and hopefully with no more to the house. Soon enough my duties will be done. I’ll likely go by and tell the house/him goodbye. Jen came out for Mom’s birthday dinner and had a good look around the house. It helped her with closure, a bit of relief. 

Goodbye Ed. Rest well.