An hour or so

I do a lot of family history research and often read about life as it was 150 - 300 years ago. I am fascinated by people and what they did and how their daily life progressed. I track families from when the parents are born, get married, have their children, become in laws, then grandparents and then die.

Sometimes it takes only an hour or so to do all this, sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on the number of people involved and if they have unusual names. I wonder about them as I look at the names they chose for their children - who chose the names, did the children like the names, what sort of personality did they have - were they lively, play jokes or were they quiet and studious - what did they hope to become - did they achieve it?

I feel sorrow as I note the deaths of children and loved ones and marvel at the constant flow of pregnancies. I cannot help but think of my life and compare it with theirs and wonder whether we would be friends if we were born at the same time.

Sadly, at times, as I deal with the unending bitterness extended to me by my children, I wonder about family arguments and disputes. How awful it must've been for parents to part with children who moved away or emigrated and they never saw them again. No means of communication other than letters and telegrams or messages brought by friends and aquaintances.

How fortunate we are that we can be in touch instantly all over the world and easily share happy moments, successes and triumphs. We can exchange news of every detail of our life if we so wish and yet we are often too busy to do so. Instead of sharing happy news and uplifting experiences and our day to day thoughts, we choose instead to write vile hurtful things and vent our frustration and anger about our life on absent, but contactable relatives.

Our lives are constantly changing and before long they will be at an end. How quickly time passes as we get older. I do not want to get older or become frail and dependant or have to deal with 'old age'. But I know it is inevitable. Having been ill for so long and unable to do so many things, I find I want to put aside petty differences and concentrate more on the happier moments of life.

Yet sometimes I wish I had been born in 1856, for then my life would be over and the worries and hurt and pain I feel would be gone and then maybe someone would be tracking my life, when I was born, when I got married, what I called my children and when I died - perhaps in an hour or so.