WHAT SECRETS DO YOU TAKE WITH YOU?

I have a laundry list of stories people told me, which their closest relatives may not have heard. Possibly they weren’t meant as secrets as such, but they just came up in conversation with me and not with those in their inner circle. 

For example, before Cousin Juliet of blessed memory passed on at age 108, she mentioned to me more than once, after she was over 106, that she didn’t know why her children wanted her to live so long. After her passing, I mentioned that to her offspring. Their reaction was, “really, she said that?”

I’ve uncovered correspondence in files of deceased relatives while going through their belongings postmortem, which sent chills down my spine. One letter showed blatant signs of mental illness in the person who drafted it. Why was the letter kept and not shared at the time?

Maybe the question should be, why take secrets with you? Or, what constitutes a secret? There could be any number of reasons for not divulging the information. They could range from embarrassment, anger, pity, not wanting to cause others pain or seek sympathy, or plain not wanting to talk lashon hara. 

Aunt Selma was married to my father-in-law’s brother. Being familiar with my passion for genealogy, she told me that her sister entrusted her with her daughter's adoption records. Unfortunately, a while after her sister passed away, Aunt Selma burned the papers in the fireplace since her niece hadn’t asked for them. Then one day years later, unexpectedly, her niece contacted Aunt Selma to inquire about her adoption. With Aunt Selma and her sister gone, I wonder if her niece ever found her birth family.

My mother’s eldest brother was married and had a son. When the baby was six months old, his parents divorced, and my uncle never spoke of his son again. My mother and her sisters wondered whatever happened to their nephew.

In his 75th year, I found my long-missing remarkable erudite cousin. My mother was 95 then, and it was heartwarming to unite them in a happy “homecoming.” While they’ve both passed on, they had that closure. And my cousin, a retired partner from a New York City law firm and head of a non-profit fund, also got to meet a removed sister. At age 67, she had no prior knowledge of her larger-than-life older brother’s existence. 

My worldly cousin Lois, who continues to carry herself with aplomb at age 90, has told me the whole unabridged story of her tangled life. She asked me not to write about it until she's gone. Filled with drama, it would make a grand soap opera. 

There are war stories, love stories, and quintessential mysteries entrusted to me. Shhhh. I can keep a secret. Is there anything you want to tell me? Possibly I can help you see that you should tell, rather than take the secret with you. 

A loving Aunt Selma was about 21 here, dating Uncle Gene Cohen and playing with his nephew-what secrets did she take with her to eternity about her niece?