Hanging Out with Dead People

I love genealogy. More specifically I love uncovering mysteries that continually come about through researching my family's past, love affairs, illegitimate children, nationalities, military service. Of course some things will remain a secret until the end of time, and some relationships are only conjecture.

A niblet in the historical records is like a dangling end in a knitted sweater. Once you get a hold of a strand and start pulling, the mysteries begin to unravel, and slowly you can find its relationship within the pattern.  My family tree is full of musicians, doctors, preachers, farmers, and war veterans.  Part of my family legend is that we are related to Lyndon B. Johnson.  I'm trying to discover a connection with Johnny Cash.

Every piece of the puzzle not only reveals more about my family but more about me. Oh, there's DNA, yes, but we are more than DNA. DNA may reveal that I am Scots Irish and that I may have A little Cherokee blood and certainly some other surprises. More importantly though, i have discovered a longing to connect to my past because I value family.

According to Merriiam-Webster, family is "a group of people who are related to each other...including people who lived in the past." However, I propose that "family" is not defined by the name you share, living in the same household or close proximity, having the same blood run through your veins or sharing the same physical features. Family is an invisible bond that strengthens over time; memories shared and relived daily. Genealogy uncovers the past, yes, but it also connects us to those who came before us; it continues their stories. By sharing research about my family, i am telling their story which then becomes mine. 

Someone once complained that I spend more time with dead people than I do with the living and sometimes I think that is the case.  In my defense, though, I have a lot of stories to catch up on so once in awhile, you will find me right here, hanging out with dead people.

  

My Happy Place:

Somewhere inside is a happy place that is safe from all the struggles and pain. Whenever I feel the weight of the world is pressing me down, I visit my happy place. It seems so long since I have been there I thought I wouldn't be able to find my way back.

I tried to find my way back to my happy place today. I found the sorrow and grief that seem to always be waiting on the surface. They are always there and they beg me to stay awhile; linger and feel the ache and emptiness that accompany them. They wrap warm arms around me like comforting friends. "Don't be afraid," they tell me. "Allow us to wash the pain away." Soon they are guiding me on my way. "You must go deeper to find your happy place," they say.

When I look back at them, they are fading, and I can see that sorrow and grief were merely memories untouched: the strong arms of my father, the scent of his work clothes, his warm quiet laugh, his gentle loving eyes.

I continue on the path to find my happy place and find it faintly lit by other memories long untouched: Ben standing proudly in cap and gown alongside friends who tread the same halls of his Alma mater; Joel standing at attention waiting to be tapped by encouraging family rushing through the excited crowd; all there for the same purpose.

The echo of voices tells me, "Deeper, deeper. You must go deeper to find your happy place." As I search the depths, so many memories light the way: friends smiling and touching; children hugging and kissing; music made through the years drifting through the air; family weeping and laughing; birthdays, weddings, holidays are all memories lighting the dark path to my happy place.

Just as I despair that my happy place is but a memory long past and lost forever, beaten down by worry, overcome by fear and emptiness; I feel a tug growing stronger, propelling me forward. Is this my happy place coming to greet me? 

Suddenly comfort and joy wrap me in their embrace and I find myself surrounded by what has been at the center of my heart all along. My happy place was not lost; it was not merely a memory untouched. My happy place is being in the center of unconditional love, and the secret to finding it is to let go of that to which I stubbornly and fearfully clutched for so long: ME.