I spent my lunch break at work - it was raining - drafting a post about ancestors of mine marrying and baptizing in the 1860s and 1870s. (It will post soon.) I had a long day at work, and left on a bit of a high, in a good mood from having found a solution to an issue that had been problematic all week. I hadn't been on Twitter in months, but I signed in today because I wanted to spread the word as widely as possible that people should vote for the Lower East Side Tenement Museum to win a major grant from Partners in Preservation. Then I got home and signed in again - because social media has addictive qualities. I scrolled down the page, obviously reading tweets in reverse chronological order.
One of my teenaged cousins had tweeted "Of course all these sad songs about missin people come on in a row when my whole iPod is on shuffle. #missyou" I wondered idly who she was talking about. Maybe her (ex?) boyfriend? I thought that was all over. Well, I guess she could miss him - really, all the more reason to miss him, if they're not together anymore.
I kept scrolling.
15 minutes earlier, she had tweeted "Love and miss you Pop. RIP <3"
Wait, really? She was missing Pop? Wait, what's today's date? May 9. Wait. What day did Pop die? It was around this time of year . . . I have no idea what the date was.
I actually had to go into my genealogy software to remember when my own grandfather died just four years ago. Yes, it was May 9. May 9, 2008.
What kind of family historian am I? What kind of granddaughter am I?
I'm happy to spend my days analyzing 19th century death records, but my grandfather's fairly recent death slips my mind, until I read about it on Twitter. I call myself a family historian, and I think I've got historian down . . . am I missing something about the family part?
I miss you too, Pop.