To my descendents

This is a letter I wrote from the view point of my two sons' ggrandfather.



Good day to you all.

I would have been more specific but, as I have no way of knowing who will read what I have to write, this will have to be good enough. I have been gone a few years by now but I would like for you, my descendents, to know a little about me.

I am Isaac Sinclair and I was born about 1878. Like I said it’s been awhile so you can’t expect me to remember every date. My parents were Lewis S. and Florinda Pierce Sinclair and we lived in the small town of Flora, Ohio. I had a brother, his name was Charles, and we were very close. I lived with him and his family for a while in Pomeroy but I’m jumping ahead a little.

When I was a young man I met the love of my life and we were married. My love was Mary Jeanetta (Nettie) Sloane and she gave me a wonderful family. We had five children who grew to adult hood. After our youngest child, Homer Darsel, was born we separated. It was not my Nettie’s fault as I suffered mightily from headaches and would become extremely mean tempered. I did not hold it against her when she took our children to Athens to live with her uncle. I regretted not being there to watch my children grow up but with my anger from the headaches I new it could not be any other way.

I went to Pomeroy to live with my brother Charles and his family. My mother lived with us there also and with Charles’ family growing I knew I would have to get my own place. I bought a small farm in the same community I had been born into and worked it as best I could.

I developed crippling arthritis and continued having the bad head aches, the pain was unbearable. I was in so much pain it was hard to get through the day without wishing I were dead. One day it got the best of me so I wrote a little note, as I knew Charles would come to check on me as usual, and placed it on the front door. I went back inside the house and got comfortable in my favorite chair. I had my shot gun right there by my side and a long stick because I knew my hands would not work well enough to do the job right. I wanted to make sure I did it right because I did not want to be a burden to my family any longer. I put the barrel of the gun in my mouth and used the stick to pull the trigger.

Now that I am gone I am sorry for leaving all of this on poor Charles. He always took care of and looked out for me; it was not right for him to come to my door only to find a note saying, “You will find my dead body inside”. I am sorry dear brother but I know you will do what is right by my family as you are so much stronger than I ever was.

Well this was my story.  It looks as though you all turned out really well so I will have to give my Nettie all the credit for passing along the love we had for each other. I am sorry I did not get to know you.

Yours truly and forever,
Isaac Elwood Sinclair
1878 - 1930
 
Pat Sinclair
2007 Sep 3