Recently a friend of mine mentioned that her book group had been reading the 1975 Anne Tyler novel Searching For Caleb, and after she’d read the copy that she’d found in her bookshelf, she noticed that my name was written on the title page. Evidently I’d lent it to her around 40 years ago and both of us had utterly forgotten that fact.
This made me smile, because the theme of the novel is – among other things – an elderly man’s search for the brother who left the family in young adulthood, never to be heard from again. So it’s about an effort to find someone lost, and the symmetry of the lost-and-found book appealed to me.
I won’t spoil it by telling you anything else about the plot, in case you want to read it. But I will say that, at the time I read it so long ago, I remember thinking it was enjoyable, although I’m not keen on most contemporary novels.
What’s more, the book had come to my mind even before its reappearance in my life, because during the past couple of years I’ve had my own experience – not with a sibling who disappeared, but with a lost great-uncle whose existence I only knew about because of a story my mother told me around 50 years ago. At that time she merely said (to my great surprise because our family is so small) that her father (my maternal grandfather) had had a brother who “disappeared” (her word), and that no one knew a thing about what had happened to him.
I knew he must be dead by now, because if alive he’d clock in at around 140 years of age. When my mother told the story I also assumed that his disappearance had occurred in his early adulthood, which would have been some time during the early years of the 20th Century, the same general time frame as Caleb’s disappearance in the book (which I hadn’t yet read because it hadn’t been written yet when my mother told me the tale of the missing great-uncle).
And since my usually very talkative and non-secretive mother seemed to know nothing more about this person, I assumed she knew nothing more about the story and I didn’t ask her any more questions. I assumed that she’d never met him.
Big mistake, but I didn’t know that at the time.
About two years ago I decided to do some genealogy research, something that had never interested me before. One motive was definitely to attempt to crack the mystery of this disappearing great-uncle of mine. I didn’t really expect to get anywhere, but I was going to try anyway. The story had stuck in my mind all those years.
The research took me a long time, with a lot of work and many twistings and turnings along the way, one problem being that he had a very very common name. I’ll skip the details, but it took a lot of skill and some creativity but finally I found out more about his life, which had included a bunch of marriages and even some illegitimate children or at least suspected illegitimate children, plus one legitimate child (and one legitimate child that actually wasn’t his, but that’s a whole nother story). And that legitimate child who was his also had had a very very common name, and I didn’t even know his birthdate or his mother’s name.
I even hired a genealogist to help me, but she only got so far, too. My big breakthrough was finding the great-uncle’s step-granddaughter (again, I’ll skip the details of the story), and she gave me a bunch of anecdotes about my great uncle (she had known him well), plus a small piece of information about his son: the name of the large city she thought my great-uncle’s son (her mother’s stepbrother) had lived in for at least a little bit.
And that in turn helped me to find his most recent address.
I figured this great-uncle’s son (who was my first cousin once-removed) would have been 94 at the time I found that address for him. What were the chances that he was still alive? And if alive, what were the chances that he was cognitively capable of understanding what I was saying and who I was? I thought they were slim, but I wrote him a letter anyway in which I explained the situation very carefully. I didn’t want to jar him and cause undue alarm or upset, and that’s one of the reasons I didn’t try to phone. I thought a letter would be gentler, plus it might reach someone else who might know something about his story.
I never expected to hear another word.
But – as you may by now have suspected – about a month later I got a letter in the mail. I stared at it in joyful but gobsmacked disbelief. It had a return address sticker with his name on it and the address, and my address was written on the front in the neatest, clearest hand I’ve ever seen. His letter was handwritten, too, and that clarity continued throughout the missive, matched by a clarity of thought.
Astounding.
Since then I’ve not met him; he lives far away. And I’ll skip all the things he told me about what had happened with his father, and how certain tragedies occurred and then after his father’s remarriage he was ripped away from the only family he’d ever known till then – which had happened not at the beginning of the 20th Century (when he wasn’t even born yet), but around 1940.
1940! That meant my mother knew about his existence, and knew him well, and he knew her, which turned out to be true and I received proof of it from him. Why hadn’t she mentioned him to me? He was her first cousin (she only had two others, so it wasn’t as though there were so many).
That’s another mystery and it will almost certainly remain unsolved.
And let me add that no one else in the family – neither my brother nor my own two second cousins on that side – had ever even heard of the existence of this great-uncle and certainly not of his son. They were flabbergasted by the whole story. Of the entire family, only my mother had mentioned it, and only to me.
Maybe she thought I’d figure it out some day, if anyone would. She probably knew what a bulldog I could be. And I’m pretty sure that after the 1940s she really didn’t know much about him or his father – but she obviously knew quite a bit about him prior to that. And afterwards, once I had seen photos of this great-uncle and his new wife and I had learned what they really looked like, I was able to see that they in fact had attended my parents’ wedding in the early 1940s. There they were in the photos, big as life.
My newfound first cousin once-removed is still going strong in his late 90s now – knock wood – and who knows, maybe some day I’ll actually meet him. He lives far away in a part of the country I almost never visit, so it would take a special trip.
But it’s extraordinarily satisfying to me to have located him. I can’t even explain the joy I felt when I got that letter from him, and it still makes me smile when I think of it – a mystery solved, an open circle closed. Not that such things are ever solved – including the grief and isolation he experienced as a child – but I hope there’s some healing there, and for me it’s been very satisfying.
I like to think my mother would have been pleased.