Sibling relationships stay. Even if the relationship becomes troubled, it is still there. Counting the siblings and spouses of my mom and dad, there were 14. They are all gone now.
I think my dad, also named Harold Morgan and born in 1917, was the oldest. The last of the group died a few weeks ago. These people were the family adults when I was a kid. The realization of their passing came a few years ago in a comment from a cousin from my generation after the death of her mother, father and stepfather.
“Wow,” she said. “I’m the oldest.” Being the oldest is new for us Baby Boomers.
Though they were not especially diverse by today’s quota-driven, politically correct standards, the story of these 14 is one of the millions of American family stories. I share a little here because they are gone.
Oklahoma City was home to nearly all the 14. Tulsa was involved. One husband, born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, came in as the result of a wartime romance.