October 2010

This story begins with a visit to the cemetery where my Paternal Ancestors are buried. It is a beautiful little cemetery alongside the Welland Canal. Even though I grew up close by, it wasn't until I began researching my family that I realized that my Dad's family was buried there. I decided to go for a visit and see who I could find. I found my grandparents, great grandparents and my great great grandparents that had come from Ireland. Scattered amongst them were many aunts, uncles and cousins. Four generations of my Dad's family all resting peacefully together. I was elated to find them but at the same time I was struck with an overwhelming feeling of sadness that my Dad was not there with them. He had died 17 years before this visit but we had been told by his second wife that she had scattered his ashes over the Gulf of Mexico in Florida. They had lived in Florida for a while prior to his death.

About a year later I was thinking about my Dad again and realized that I had collected hundreds of documents on his family members but I didn't really have any for him. I asked if anyone had copies of his birth, marriage or death certificates and no one did so I ordered his death certificate from the state of Michigan where he died. The day it came in the mail everything changed forever. The certificate had everything on it that I expected to see but down at the bottom it had the name of the funeral home that looked after him. This was information that I had not known before. I guess there was *something* about his second wife and the story of his ashes being scattered that was gnawing away in the back of my mind because the first thing I did was look up the number of the funeral home and called them. This was now 18 years after his death and I asked if they could check their records and tell me who they gave his ashes to and when. The next day I got a call back from the funeral director who said that my Dad was right there with him.

To tell you how I felt at that moment (and for several months to follow) would require me to write a book so I will leave it to your imagination. She never claimed his ashes, she never scattered them over the Gulf of Mexico, she lied to his family and when the funeral home tried to get an alternate contact from her, she told them there wasn't anyone. I can't explain why she did this. It is so far beyond the realm of what is normal and acceptable in my mind.

My husband and I made arrangements to go to Michigan right away and pick up my Dad. We brought him home with us and started working on burial arrangements in the little cemetery next to the canal. Three months later, we had a burial service that was attended by his family and closest friends along with the priest from his childhood parish and he is now resting peacefully with the rest of his family and all is right with the world.

I have made a lot of amazing discoveries researching my family tree and am sure I will make many more in the future but nothing will ever come close to this one. It was a painful discovery until I realized the opportunity I had been given. I know where my Dad is now and he is right where he belongs! I am eternally grateful to the funeral home for protecting his ashes for all those years in the hopes that he would be found and to my ancestors who must have been whispering to me.

The moral of this story...
*Plan your estate and make your final wishes known to at least 2 family members.
*If it doesn't feel right, it probably isn't...ask questions and seek proof.

PS - Thanks to Thomas at Geneabloggers for your ear and feedback. It only took me a year and I refrained from making any *wicked stepmother* remarks. Oops, except that one ;)