Today, we celebrated my grandmother’s 100th birthday. It was a momentous occasion, one that gave me a reason to reflect not only on her long life but on the strength that runs in our family. As part of the celebration, I gave a presentation about resilience—something my grandmother knows more about than most. She was the sole survivor of six siblings, growing up in the unforgiving landscape of rural western Colorado, where survival itself was often a daily struggle.
When you grow up hearing stories of hardship like hers, you begin to see life differently. The daily difficulties we face today seem small in comparison. We take so much for granted—modern medicine, fresh water, refrigeration, urgent care, emergency responders. These were luxuries my ancestors never knew. They lived in a world where loss was a frequent companion, where tragedy was not an exception but a part of life. And yet, they endured.
A Family Marked by Loss
My grandmother’s resilience was not born from ease, but from suffering. She survived when her siblings did not. Each name, each date, and each story is a painful reminder of how fragile life was for early pioneers.
Her oldest brother, Homer Wayne, was just sixteen months old when tragedy struck:
“On Sunday morning last, at ten thirty o’clock, little Homer Wayne Dean, the little sixteen months old baby boy of William Lee Dean and Delsie Outcalt Dean was drowned in the Hartman ditch at the rear of their home.
Such is the startling piece of news that began to be talked about in the early hours of Sunday, and for a little while men, strong and rugged, shuddered at the fate of a bright young life, snuffed out in the twinkling of an eye…”
The sorrow of losing a child was something my great-grandparents knew too well, but the hardest blow came years later when sickness claimed three of their children in a single night.
“A most distressing tragedy occurred in West Gunnison this week when the Dean family were stricken with ptomaine poisoning from eating canned tomatoes. Three children are dead and as we go to press Mrs. Dean is in very serious condition.
On Monday evening Mrs. Dean opened a can of tomatoes and she thinks that she immediately turned them out into a porcelain dish and served them to the children. Mr. Dean, who is a Rio Grande brakeman, returned from his trip about 3pm….”
That week in November 1923, my grandmother lost her brother Emmett Newton (4 years old), her brother Eldon Herbert (1 year old), and her sister Hazel Alta (5 years old). It is hard to even imagine the grief my great-grandparents endured, burying three of their children at once.
The following years did not bring reprieve. Another baby, unnamed in the records, died the same day she was born. Then, in 1927, the family suffered yet another devastating loss:
“The death angel, striking the home of Mr. and Mrs. William Dean for the sixth time, Wednesday morning claimed the spirit of Alta Norma, two years of age. The little girl developed pneumonia after an attack of whooping cough, her frail body failing to withstand ravaging effects of the disease. Alta Norma lived just long enough to become the comforting joy of grief-stricken parents, who had laid to rest five boys and girls.”
Through all this loss, my grandmother endured. She grew up in the shadow of these tragedies, in a world where childhood did not guarantee adulthood, and where grief and resilience walked hand in hand. Alta Norma is the young girl standing on the chair next to my grandmother as a little girl in the picture.
Lessons from the Past
What does it mean to be resilient? It means looking tragedy in the face and moving forward anyway. It means carrying loss without letting it define you. It means understanding that hardship is not the end of the story.
My grandmother’s life is proof that resilience is not just about surviving—it’s about living. Despite everything, she did not become bitter or broken. She built a life, a family, a legacy. She carried the weight of her past, but she never let it keep her from embracing the future.
When I think about the struggles we face today—stress, setbacks, disappointments—they pale in comparison to what my ancestors endured. And yet, the lesson is the same: we are stronger than we think. We come from those who survived, who persevered, who refused to let tragedy have the final say.
Resilience is in our blood. We just have to choose to live by it.
Exactly!
It was a beautiful tribute, Guy. Thank you for taking the time to put this together. I will cherish it forever.