In Honor of A Good Man
For more than 40 years, I have enjoyed having a place in a big, happy family. Not my small and relatively unhappy one from growing up. It’s the one on my daughter’s paternal side, where I once more firmly belonged until her dad and I divorced in 2000.
Having a sense of belonging is an embedded human need. Family is the first and, for many, the closest group any of us has. It is certainly where we first learn what it means to belong. Whether a family is spare in numbers, like mine, or ample, like this one, each is unique. Some end up working out better than others. Sometimes the concept of family evolves into family-by-choice among unrelated friends. It does not matter. What signals a good family to me is the enduring intention to build a loving (safe) (comfortable) place to belong.
This was precisely the goal of the man formerly known as my father-in-law after a solitary childhood with his single mom. He always wanted to create what he never had: a big, happy family. When he and Joan met in the 1950s, that’s what she had always dreamed of, too, after a childhood heartbreaking in its own way. This remarkable team gave life to seven people, all long-since grown. Each has flourished, building their own families. Now, grandchildren and great-grandchildren have also come into the fold.
On Easter, 2023, James Arthur Dernocoeur departed this life. May 22 would have marked their 69th anniversary.
Years ago, Jim initiated a numbering system to keep track of everyone. Joan, of course, was #1. He was #2. His children were #3-9, and the husband of the first to marry was #10. I was next, so I am #11. Doug and I called ourselves the “outlaws” because we were hopelessly outnumbered until other in-laws came along. My granddaughter, #54, arrived this year on February 24, and #55 was born just a few weeks later. Only one, eldest daughter Gwen, preceded Jim in death when she succumbed to cancer in 2000.
When the Dernocoeur family gathers, there seems to be a special force field present. Just prior to the pandemic, a family reunion was being planned. Jim asked one of his daughters to contact me and invite me. I was touched. I went for an afternoon, and felt welcome. Oh, the stories! And the laughter, always abundant, running hand-in-hand with unstoppable story-telling. And the food! This is a family that deeply appreciates good food, and the enjoyment of it is inevitably audible. It is impossible to have Dernocoeur genes and not repeatedly utter “mmmm!” when eating.
As is true of every family, belonging comes with responsibilities and costs. Naturally it is imperfect. There are squabbles and hurts. Time and distance can wear away some of the closeness. Yet, this family is truly one of the good ones in this stressed and fractured world. It has a strong foundation, a core built by the role-modeling of Jim and Joan. It is deep and abiding and true.
James Arthur Dernocoeur lived for 94 years. It was time enough to build a family from scratch. He and Joan had the pleasure of witnessing the fruits of their labors as their children grew into adults of quality and goodness. Now, the family values, traditions and stories are being passed along to the next two generations. As most of the family comes together over Memorial Day weekend to honor Jim’s passing, the stories and the choruses of “mmmm!” will surely be shared with love and respect.
What a gift it has been, to continue to belong, even if peripherally on the sidelines. It has meant the world to me, as did another time when Jim leaned across the breakfast table, tears in his eyes, to acknowledge and thank me for the honor which my writing has brought to the family name.
As each year of my own life passes, fewer and fewer elders are still out ahead of me to guide my way. I feel wistful about the diminishing numbers, sad to think of those who are not around anymore. I have recognized a deepening sense of respect for those who achieve long lives. Indeed, as the saying goes, “old age is not for sissies.” To Jim and Joan and all my other elders, my thanks are both humble and heartfelt for the guidance and wisdom born of your years.
For James Arthur Dernocoeur, RIP
