Dec '25 (edited) • General discussion
Today I solved a mystery that has been 25 years in the making.
When I was pregnant with Mckenzy, I wanted to give her a family name—something that carried meaning, history, and intention. So I did what felt natural at the time: I went digging through the family Bible at Mom and Dad’s house. One of those huge family Bibles—the kind you see on church altars.
For context, my mom was a family-history buff in the truest sense of the word. She researched everything on her side of the family. She went so far as to compile an entire Frisinger Family Book—started on a hand-crank copy machine, blue ink and all—and mailed it to everyone.
Keep in mind, I’m the youngest of 38 grandchildren. She had eight siblings. This was no small undertaking.
And of course, I was the “volunteer.” I helped assemble those books—and at one point I was even dragged to Germany to go tomb-hopping. I was 12. I had no choice. 😂
I digress.
Because of all that exposure, I had seen nearly every family name imaginable. One name stood out to me, and I decided Mckenzy’s middle name would be Dechlia.
When Mckenzy was born, Mom and Dad came to Kansas, and we loaded up to visit one of the last living cousins on Mom’s mother’s side. Almost as soon as we arrived, she said something that stopped me cold.
She explained that her mother had a very strong German brogue, and she now believed she had misheard the name all those years. She thought there may never have been a Dechlia at all—that the name was actually Teikla. That would explain why no one had ever been able to find a tombstone.
My heart sank to my toes.
I had just received Mckenzy Dechlia’s birth certificate—with what I suddenly believed might be a made-up name.
As Mckenzy got older, I was honest with her. I told her the whole story and let her know that if she ever wanted to change her middle name, she could. She thought about it then and there—and decided to keep it. Even now, she laughs and says people always ask her about her middle name whenever they see it.
Fast forward to today.
While writing a Christmas story for my Facebook page, I wanted to double-check some dates. In searching for my grandfather Michael Frisinger’s obituary, I found this line:
“Michael Carl Frisinger Jr., of Czech and Dechlia — she died aboard ship on the way to America; married Viola Garlock on November 10, 1917.”
There it was.
Dechlia was real.
She died during the voyage to America, which explains why we never found a tombstone. Surely, my grandfather getting off in Ellis Island would not have brought her body all the way to Missouri before later marrying my grandmother.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
This is why it matters to listen to stories—and to keep asking questions.
I’m not sure who later updated the Frisinger records, but I know one of my cousins dug deeper into the ship logs. Those records tracked signatures of who boarded—and who disembarked. My great-grandparents’ and grandfather Bergstrom’s signatures were recorded boarding in Sweden. Only my great-grandfather’s and grandfather’s signatures were recorded exiting the ship in New York.
So no—I wasn’t crazy.
I didn’t choose a made-up name. I chose a very real, very rare name—belonging to a woman whose life was short, who was seeking a new adventure, and who embarked on a journey that cost her life over 110 years ago.
Knowing that now makes the name even more meaningful.
It feels like honoring someone long forgotten—carrying her legacy forward through a name that continues on.
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Today I solved a mystery that has been 25 years in the making.
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