As promised, my synchronicity streak isn’t done with me yet.
Back in March, I mailed a request to the Cook County, Illinois Vital Records office seeking the death certificate of my husband’s second great-uncle, John Calvin DeWolf. He’s an intriguing figure. A cryptic entry in his mother’s Bible notes simply that he was “found dead in the woods in LaGrange.” That line alone opens a dozen genealogical rabbit holes:
Dead how?
Accident?
Sudden illness?
Suicide?
Foul play?
Why was he in the woods at all?
Where was he buried afterward?
Why has no obituary surfaced?
Online databases are silent. Newspaper searches cough politely and excuse themselves.
So I sent in my request… and then, nothing. Months passed. My check went uncashed. My mailman and I eyed each other suspiciously. I eventually chalked it up to a postal mishap.
Fast-forward to late July, when I traveled to Chicago to obtain several vital records in person for my family’s dual-citizenship pursuit. While there, I re-requested John Calvin’s death certificate. I handed over the form. I paid the fee. The clerk assured me they’d be in touch.
Every other record from that day has since dutifully arrived in my mailbox.
Except John’s.
And then last Tuesday, while writing the chapter on John Calvin’s parents for my upcoming book Echoes of Britannia, I footnoted the matter:
“Death certificate requested; not yet received. Someday, perhaps, the record will surface.”
I sighed, closed the my Word doc, and moved on.
Two days later, yes, exactly two, an envelope from the Cook County Vital Records office appeared in my mailbox. My heart did a little leap. Could this be it?
Not quite.
Inside was a Certificate of No Finding.
According to Cook County, they have no death record at all for John Calvin DeWolf.
So where did he die?
Was it reported?
Was it covered up?
Was it recorded elsewhere?
His half sister who owned the Bible at the time of his death and likely made the entry clearly believed he was found in LaGrange. The Bible entry says so. But the county has nothing.
The mystery deepens.
And the timing? After seven silent months, the response was generated on the very day I finally wrote about him.
Coincidence? Maybe. But these synchronicities love to show up when I start telling a story.
Of course, I’m not done with John. Next stop: IRAD, for coroner’s records, inquests, and investigations. Somebody, somewhere, documented what happened.
Because records hide.
But they rarely disappear forever.
Earlier this month, the same thing happened with my mom's Cook County, Illinois birth record. I had requested it in person in Chicago in late July. They couldn't find it which was no surprise to me as my mom and grandmom had both said the birth was only registered with the Roman Catholic Church, an accepted practice in 1918. On the anniversary of my mom's death earlier this month, I finally received a response from Cook County. It was a record of no record. Thanks, mom! Sometimes are family tell us the truth and we can confirm it over 100 years later.
At times, family history feels less like research and more like a conversation across time. We chase records, but every now and then, the records seem to chase us back. These little moments remind me that discoveries don’t always happen in archives. Sometimes they appear in unexpected envelopes or on memorial pages when we least expect them.
They’re often hidden in plain sight, waiting for the right moment to surface.
If you enjoy reflections like this, I’ve begun sending a short once-a-month note to curious-minded family historians. You can join me by messaging me at genealogyatheart.com. It’s a quiet circle, and you’re welcome there. I've also begun a FaceBook and LinkedIN page so we can interact frequently. Hope you'll join me there as well!
Happy Halloween, dear readers.
May the ancestors keep whispering and may you always listen.
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