Last year, a spate of deaths altered my position in a greater hierarchy.
First, a cousin born a few months before my dad, passed, having reached 100. Shortly after his death in 2009, we had a fruitful exchange of correspondence answering many of my questions about my grandparents, which now appear as Dayton's Leading Republican Plumber on my Orphan George blog.
Also participating in that exchange was my dad's youngest sister, who was halfway between him and me in age, as it turned out. She, too, died this year, shortly after her husband. They were the last of the generation in my close linage. So I'm now the eldest male in my grandfather's descendants.
The year also had a series of deaths in Dover Friends Meeting, including a former clerk, a cherished elder (bishop), a fine minister, a very dedicated longtime treasurer, and a prominent social activist. That leaves me as the oldest surviving clerk of the congregation but living a distance away. The collective memory shrinks, in effect.
What I'm left facing is the reality that there's no longer that umbrella of older, wiser figures over me, sheltering or guiding me. Instead, that's now my role in reverse. Frankly, I feel inadequate.
It's a responsibility, all the same. And a debt.
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