Mom and dad moved from San Antonio in 1956; it was the city of their courting, marriage and starting a family. There is McInnis Road in San Antonio, named after my grandpa. My parents lived there decades and had friends and family there, but the year I was born they moved to Houston for a new start for dad’s business. Mom was 40 and dad was 43. Fast forward about 10 years and dad would do something that I deemed peculiar as a kid when we took trips to San Antonio and stayed in the hotel of one of his clients. Invariably, dad would look in the phone directory for a variety of names, checking on people from the past. Eventually, that sort of investigation began to include the obituary section of the newspaper, which my mom was attentive to.  I didn’t understand then; I understand now.

Ben Franklin was purported to have said, “I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page. If my name is not on it, I get up.”  Humorous, but there are actually good reasons to look back to “then” in order get a more clear view of “now.”

I believe that looking back provides context, perspective and clarity about life. In your research, you’ll find old friends and neighbors who have passed away (be thankful you’re still alive); you’ll find former teachers who are retired (send them a thank you note for all they taught you); you’ll find former bosses and colleagues who have gone on to do better or worse (be humble for what you have achieved and learn from your “failures”); and, you’ll find people who have served as milestones or “mileage markers” in your life for moments or long periods (recognize their role in making you who you are).

When dad looked at the phone book and mom at the newspaper’s obituary section, they were providing themselves with benchmarks on the continuum of life. They were acknowledging changes in life, measured by the presence or absence of particular people. They weren’t looking to compare their lives to others, but to get a better sense of where they were on the journey that has no map:  life. That’s the way I understand it, anyway, because that is why I occasionally look for names almost forgotten.