May They Be Remembered

My mother holds our family in boxes. She spent decades compiling stories from tiny slivers of information via family bibles, genealogical archives, vital statistics databases. She collected all the letters and journals from extended family members and read each one.

Placing the specific within the context of time, timelines are almost as important as the lineage itself. More than a dormant, leafless family tree, her honoring is more vital, more abundant. Her histories contain personalities, feelings, and contemporaneous views of the past. Historical perspective lends insight to decisions grand and intimate, decisions that brought us to this time.

Such acts of remembrance shape our understanding of self. Dates and locations are cold, dead data points. Life is an ancestor writing a letter to her pioneering cousin, not knowing if she made the trek to Salt Lake, not knowing if she'll ever receive it or answer. Closing the letter with Happy Holidays, as the letter might arrive anytime between All Hallows Ev'n and Christmas Day.

My mother sees the dauntlessness of her foreborn cousin as explanation of her own intrepidity. Or an enriched connection to Family, to self, to history and time, to life and the eternal nature of consequence, of life leading to life. And in the shared remembrance, she honors the flesh and the spirit of her ancestors.