All best wishes at Christmas, and for a good New Year.  Following is a family story which, in one way or another, likely applies to all of us.

Dec. 14, my brother, John, sent an e-mail with a most intriguing document: the death certificate for our grandfather Henry Bernard, died May 23, 1957 in Fargo ND (below). I’ve done much family history, but had never seen this document, which John had received from a local friend who’s an amateur ancestry researcher.

pdf: Bernard Henry May 23, 1957 death cert

Grandpa died when I was 17, near the end of my junior year in high school.  I certainly knew him, as I knew the other grandparents, all of whom died later.  But we never really knew any of the grandparents very well as we always lived a distance away, and family trips with five young kids were infrequent – perhaps once or twice  a year.

Grandpa and Grandma stopped by to visit us in August of 1956. I have a photo of this visit.  Grandma was not feeling well at the time.  Not long after they got home she suffered a stroke and I think most of her remaining years were in Grafton ND’s version of a nursing home – a room in the local hospital.

I know a lot about my grandparents ancestry on both sides, but Grandpa Bernard’s death certificate described part of his life I never knew.

Best I know, Grandpa wasn’t with Grandma his last year. They were both disabled.  At some point, Grandpa lost a second leg to diabetes (he lost the first about 1946), and died at the VA Hospital in Fargo, 120 miles from home.

The death certificate revealed that he spent 276 days – roughly 8 months, the entire school year – in the VA Hospital, about 60 miles from where we lived at the time.  Dad, their only child in the local area, probably made numerous solitary trips up to visit his Dad.   We – I was the oldest sibling –  stayed home.  Both Mom and Dad were full-time school teachers, so had more than enough on their plates.  Todays means of communicating were many years in the future.

Grandpa died, and we all went to the funeral in Grafton.  He was a well known man in the town, and judging by the signers of the memorial book, he was well respected.  It was a big funeral.

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“The Life Certificate”, the rest of his and our stories, is what we all create about ourselves, day by day.  Bits and pieces are memorable to someone.

How much of, what characteristics of me is Grandpa?    We are all a collection of DNA and personal qualities going back eons, the last contributors to mine were the four people who were my grandparents and their ancestors.

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I have few direct memories of Grandpa Bernard.   Here is the memory that first came to mind as I looked at Grandpa’s death certificate.

In their later years, Grandma and Grandpa lived in a tiny house, which had a tiny landing with a bench where grandpa would often sit, watching the world go by (1946 photo below).  By his bench he had a can full of small stones, and a homemade sling shot.

1946, Grafton ND. Dick is 5-year old in front.

Once,  we kids were with him, and he noticed a dog coming down the sidewalk which passed near the house.  He was a farm kid and in younger years always had a dog.  This day he said “Watch that dog”.  The dog approached. and when he was nearing Grandpa, he made a hard right turn, went across the street, and thence left, then left again, thence right continuing on his way.  Not a word – or bark – was exchanged. The dog and Grandpa obviously had an understanding.

It’s a memory that still brings a smile about 75 years later.

This was what I’d call a “Life Certificate” memory.  I carry some of the DNA of Grandpa, as do my siblings, and in a sense he’s always with us.  But what we remember, basically, are the moments like the one I describe above, which give our ancestors important parts of our life experience.  These are the things we remember.

What’s a memory that you have of someone passed?

Merry Christmas.

POSTNOTE: Perhaps you have an interest in family history.  If interested in the family from which Henry Bernard (Honore, in his native French) came, you can check out the history I did in 2010: here, click library click books, scroll down to Bernard-Collette.  Here are the pages about the family: 48-61, 67-71, 134-171, 213-216, 384-392.

COMMENTS:

from SAK:  Wonderful story of your grandfather & the dog that didn’t bark, a certain “understanding” you say!

Lots of memories of my grandparents come to mind, none as cute as that one though. I remember my grandmother always in black after grandfather died & most often with a small Bible in her hand.

Wishing you & yours a Merry Christmas & a Happy, healthy 2026,

from Gary: Am I correct that you are the one with the impish smile? [response: yes, just taking break from the hard work of being an oldest child, when competitors come along and challenge one’s turf!  #5 isn’t in the picture – he was two yeas in the future.]

from Carole: Thank you for your very special holiday message.

from Claude: Thank you, Dick. And I wish you a magical holiday season too!

from Frank: Some may quibble, but this is the shortest day of the year.  I join my fellow peasants in heaping wood on the celebratory bonfires, in eating, drinking and celebrating the fact that the sun will not disappear, while singing songs of joy and hope, and in my case plunking along on my guitar. Since we’re having an unusually warm winter, I’ll be joining friends for 18 holes of glorious golf after Mass. Hope springs eternal that this may be the day I shoot my age, even with a few mulligans, breakfast balls and the rare foot wedge. May fortune smile upon your endeavors today and all the days of the New Year.

from Brian: Thanks so much for your sweet post  I really APPRECIATE it!!   I’m here all alone in Brooklyn just with my wonderful cat, Amie.  Oh gee, Amie!

from Jeff: I hope you werent shooting rocks at neighborhood dogs as part of that DNA inheritance?  hahaha

Dick, to Jeff and all: The memory was first off the shelf when I thought about Grandpa, who was always a working man, farm kid first grade education in Quebec, lumberjack in New Hampshire, asbestos mines in Quebec, a long career as chief engineer at the flour mill in Grafton ND.   Dad talked about Grandpas dogs, apparently all named “Fosto”, the name, some slang he apparently picked up in Philippines in Spanish-American War 1898-99.  Doubtless they were trained in the old country way, as was this neighborhood dog who probably had watered some favorite object in front of Grandpa’s house once or twice too often.  You’ll note I said “small stones”.  He also had a BB gun by the back door should some varmint start messing around in their little garden.   I never saw him demonstrate either the sling shot or the BB gun.  Doubtless he knew how to use them!

from Mary Ellen: Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année to you and Cathy and the whole family.