Family Roots and Branches

To quote the band Talking Heads from the song Once in a Lifetime, “How did I get here?”

And why does it matter?

For my ancestors who died before I was born, I contributed absolutely nothing to what they did or who they were. I try not to take any unearned pride in their efforts. I have no idea if we would have even liked each other. 

Still, I marvel at the many hardships they endured that brought my family to the United States and led me to be here.

I’m fortunate that some of them wrote about their trials and travels, described what people were like, and included humor with history. Reading these family history compilations helps connect me to world history.

One side of the family history traces back to the 1880s, to a girl born in Georgia, a province of Russia near the border of Turkey. She was orphaned at age six. Her son wrote about her life in 1988 when he was 81 years old. It’s a treasure of recollections describing tragedy and grit. 

From a childhood of working to earn her keep, a marriage, three children, and arriving in America by way of Ellis Island, the extreme hardship and poverty are heart-wrenching. Hard work was a constant. 

Another side of my family traces back to 1795 in Ireland. A wedding gift of 500 acres in Tennessee brought my forefather to America. After reading “Journal of Exploration” written by Lewis and Clark, they decided to travel west to the Oregon Country in 1845. The five-month, 2,000-mile journey was filled with danger and hardship, and their granddaughters memorialized it 100 years later in 1945.

It’s impossible for me to adequately describe how much every generation before me experienced. There’s just too much. And that is the marvel of it being written and being able to know it. It’s truly a gift they spent time and effort compiling their life stories.

For the family members I’ve known and spent time with, I feel freer taking pride in knowing and loving them.

A grandfather who, at the age of nine during the Great Depression, worked to help his mom feed them. My father, who worked hard and achieved impressive professional success. My mother, who epitomized resilience and continues to influence me daily decades after her passing. 

My roots are filled with people doing big things, shaping lives and opportunities for their generations to come.  Snippets and stories told describe family characteristics, traits, values, and morals. They are filled with life lessons to emulate and avoid.

My family tree branches brush up against my own limbs more easily now, thanks to social media. It lets us connect more often and know more about each other across many miles. They’ve spurred visits and friendships.

My uncle passed away this year. I had no idea that when I spent significant time with my aunt at his memorial that it would be the last time I’d see her. She passed away less than two weeks later. I’m extremely sad for myself with their passing, and I’m a million times sadder for my cousins losing both parents.

I’m grateful for the time I spent with my aunt, uncle, cousins, and their kids over the years, and during this recent visit. We’ve shared walks, meals, and lots and lots of stories. Each time we connected, I discovered more about who they are, what they’ve done, what hurt them, and what made them happy. I got more context about other family members through funny stories decades old. I’m better for knowing them, and I’m honored they shared their lives with me.

My family roots and branches give me strength, support, and flexibility. Whether in memories or current connection, they grant me kinship, perspective, and appreciation for where I am and the opportunities I have. I admire their adventurous spirit and fortitude, and I’m motivated in my own life to know that my genes support me in dreaming big and persevering in trying times.