Possum Philosophy: Family historian and much more

By ROBERT CAHILL/Columnist

Every family has a historian. They are the person you ask when you can’t remember things. Things such as when is your brother’s birthday or what is the date of your Mom and Dad’s anniversary.
They usually serve a multi-task list of duties. They provide the unofficial family tree such as which cousin married who or when was your aunt’s birthday or how many children did Aunt Matilda have. In my immediate family my sister, Lynn, serves that function.
In my Dad’s family it was usually actually handled by the dynamic duo of his sister Dot and his sister Claudine. Unfortunately, Claudine passed away much too soon, leaving Aunt Dot as the sole repository of the family history.
Dortha (or Dot as she was always known) was born in 1926 if my math skills serve me correctly (and there is no guarantee of that), which was a year later than my Dad. She married Fred Gillespie, a young man from the area now known as Valley Road (what we used to call the Ridge Road). They never had children, quite a shame since both were fond of kids.
Like most folks of her generation, Aunt Dot worked for many years in the clerical department of Mathieson, later Olin. She retired from there, then went to work for the town of Saltville as the Water/Sewer Department clerk. Dot had excellent business-office skills, something she shared in common with my Dad.
The women of the Cahill family have a somewhat unique trait. My sister and all my female cousins went through a stage, somewhere around 14 or 15, where they looked alike. I mean a lot alike, as in their pictures could get mixed up if they didn’t have their name on them somewhere, or at least someone else in the photo that could serve as an identifier.
Fortunately, no two of them were close enough in age that this was a problem; and although they do share, as do most families, certain usually minor genetic traits, they passed through this stage in a year or two and then no longer looked like young Cahill clones.
As I said I thought it pertained only to the female offspring of my Dad and his siblings, I was wrong. A couple of years ago we were looking through some old family photos. I came across one that I was sure was a shot of one of my female cousins (after all, I may be just a guy but I do recognize my only sister even in a picture taken several years ago so I knew it wasn’t her). But I was wrong. It was not a cousin at all. It was my Aunt Dot when she was about 15.
There are things you remember about some family members, things from your early childhood, that no matter how old you may get, you will always recall when that person’s name is mentioned. One of these was that my Grandmother Cahill had a set of elephant figures carved out of what was likely ivory that someone in the family had brought to her after World War II. They went from tiny, no bigger than a thumbnail to about eight to 10 inches in increments, each had its trunk wrapped around the next larger one’s tail. I was fascinated by these and although both Mom and Dad threatened unholy retribution upon their oldest son’s head should he bring any, even the slightest misfortune upon these elephant figurines, Aunts Dot and Claudine would usually get them down and let me play with them.
I also remember that Uncle Fred loved horses and horse shows. Once when they were having one at the Rich Valley Fair Grounds, a buddy of mine and I went. Now I am no huge fan of horse shows, but when you grow up in a small rural town, as a young boy, barely 18, you will attend any event where you think there is even the slightest chance of meeting pretty young girls. I ran into Uncle Fred, who was talking with a friend of his. I honestly don’t remember who, though I have a pretty good idea. This fellow was showing a horse or two and told us to come on back to the stalls and look at his horse.
Fred and I went along and once inside the stall area, the guy opened up a big cooler, took out a couple of cold beers and handed one to Fred and one to me. Now both of us wanted to drink them but both feared the other might rat him out to Aunt Dot, a good church-going woman and teetotaler if one ever lived. Finally, Fred opened his looked at me and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t.” I was all for that so we downed them quickly. Our host handed us another and just as we both took our first sips of the second cold brew, who should pop her head through the door but my auntie. She immediately dressed both of us down like little children. Needless to say, we never shared another beer (at least anywhere where Dot might catch us). 
My Aunt Dot was a good and kind lady. She loved children. She loved her family and her many friends. Sadly, just as my Mom did, my aunt developed what I believe was Alzheimer’s. Her memory once perfect, began to decline, not as one’s does with normal aging but at a rapid and devastating pace. With it comes a decline in physical health as well. Just as my Mom did, Dot ended up needing total 24-hour-a day care. Monday, I received word that she had passed away, sometime close to midnight on Nov.22.  (Strangely, her mother, my Grandmother Cahill passed away Nov. 22, 1963. Yes, you history buffs out there know that was the same day as John Fitzgerald Kennedy, our President at the time, was assassinated. )
Dot will be greatly missed by her family and friends here. I have no doubt she has joined my mother (and father) in heaven. I hope both of these two fine Southern ladies are having a wonderful time, sharing the many wonderful family memories that horrible disease had robbed them of while they were still with us. Rest in peace Aunt Dot, your many nieces and nephews will always remember you fondly.

A freelance journalist, Robert “Rocky” Cahill writes regularly for the News & Messenger. His Possum Philosophy column appears in each Saturday edition.