Every now and then I have an undeniable and almost desperate need to be with family, members of my parents family that is.
Specifically my father’s family.
I want to talk about my father, ask questions and hear anecdotes about when he was a boy, a young man, how he was as a brother, an uncle and a friend.
I want to remember and hear about him being alive.
Last weekend, my sister and I took Lucas to visit our aunt and uncle (my father’s middle brother). We haven’t seen one another since Lucas was four months old.
Since my father died, seeing my uncle David will always be bittersweet. The resemblance to my father is uncanny and their mannerisms are so similar. I loved witnessing my uncle interact with Lucas. His tone and actions are so much like I imagine my father’s would be had he lived to be a grandparent.
One of the highlights of this trip, aside from being with family, was seeing the church my parents were married in 42 years ago on August 23, 1969.
Luckily, my sister carries this photo with her in her wallet. This awful reproduction was taken with my phone and the photo was just what we needed to confirm the exact side of the church my newlywed parents must have exited through, as there are many!
What dreams did they have have for themselves and their future together at the moment this photo was taken. Were they scared? Confident in their choice of life partners? Nervous about the journey that lie ahead, or simply deliriously happy and in love? I hope it was a combination of all four.
Family history is so important. It not only tells us who we are and where we come from, but it helps us remember when we are sad and it is one of the main reasons that I write, so that Lucas may know his (and me) better.
Family history is preserved through our children.
