What does it mean when a generation dies? How much is lost when the last of a family’s generation passes away? 

Brothers Harry and Joe raised 11 children in all. There was Mary born in 1923 who married Joe Sheehan. Then came Harry, Jr in 1924. In 1927 came Jane and then the first of Joe Mattimore’s gang, Joseph Jr (Doc-y Joe, we called him). Others followed — Mary (my mom), Jack, Richard, Sally, Daniel, Kay. Lastly was Hank born in 1934. First cousins to each other, they just missed being from the Greatest Generation, landing in the beginning of the Silent Generation. I guess that only means they were too young to remember much of the Great Depression. But live through it they did. 

Mary Sheehan was the first to pass away, in 1995 at the young age of 72. Richard was the last, in January 2021 at age 86. 

Perhaps it’s because I just turned 65 a couple of weeks ago (hello, Medicare), but I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means when a generation dies. 

My sisters and brothers and cousins and I have no more blood aunts or uncles. We are it, the grown-ups now. We are the oldest. Of course, I can’t help thinking about going to weddings or family gatherings when I was just a kid and thinking how old the aunts and uncles were. We are those old relatives now.

Only cousins Laura and Sean in California have their mother (uncle Hank’s first wife) still with them. Every other Mattimore cousin of my generation has lost both parents. At first, there is definitely a feeling of being a bit untethered, orphaned — despite being the adults we are. That’s natural, I suppose. But a sobering realization familiar to us all.

I don’t think my recent pondering comes from knowing that I’m moving up to a higher rung on the death ladder. Well, partly, it is. But it’s also mourning the loss of my guiding spirits: the people who shaped me. As an old African proverb goes, when an old person dies, it’s like a library of stories burning down.

We have lost the firsthand memories of the Great Depression, WWII, the Holocaust, Cold War, the first color televisions and so much more. We have lost, firsthand, the things they used to say — funny stories, inspirations, truths and tough wisdom. I hope these things are being passed down to the next generations. It is so important. Memory is a fragile thing, especially when not written down (one of the reasons I started this blog). 

So what do we do now? All of us left without a generation above us? In pondering the loss of our Mattimore parents’ generation, I’m left with the realization — no, the dead certainty — that despite the special nature of a parent-child relationship, the most enduring relationships of our lives are with our siblings. 

From earliest childhood, our siblings are our co-conspirators, accomplices, role models, cautionary tales. They are our defenders, intimidators, sources of envy and wellsprings of pride.

“To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.”   —Clara Ortega

Our parents knew this. They felt the same about their siblings. As did the generations before them. And as we take the wheel, now, as the oldest generation, I know I can rely on my siblings for anything. For everything. And together, we can remember and share in the love and guidance from our parents that is so ingrained in us, and to know that they are indeed still within us. 

There are a few more photos of siblings and cousins in the slideshow above. Apologies to those whose FaceBook pages I pilfered to find photos.

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