My beloved CeCe used to look at me from time to time with absolute love in her eyes and exclaim, we have history! It was a pronouncement shaped by admiration, forged by time, and fueled by love. We both relished the fact that we had been together for so long. All of the memories, experiences, and adventures we shared were part and parcel of a life together – the history of a life together.
The lives we lead chronicle a history reflecting an intimate part of ourselves and the life we share with those whom we know and love. Searching our past for answers or connections is a way to satisfy a hunger to belong; to be a part of something greater than ourselves. It’s a way to brush up against that mantle of immortality. CeCe loved researching genealogy, and we used to daydream about one day going to Italy and Spain to retrace our respective family’s history to discover new insights and connections. We knew that our adventures would undoubtedly unearth information through which we would get to know one another even further and in turn find wondrous, new things to love about each other.
Family ties (aka your genealogy, not the 80’s TV show) run deep in many cases. Yet even the most inconsequential of facts reveal something that helps paint a clearer picture of long ago. Those connective threads are what families rely on for bridging generational gaps that pique even the most disinterested of family members when you begin retracing your lineage all the way back to the Stone Age.
A few years ago, I particularly enjoyed watching CeCe when she got together with her cousin Donna to talk about the family lore. As they began to reminisce about their parents, siblings or grandparents, a deep connection began to emerge as they shared stories and insights; family traits and even older family habits. Conversations eventually grew as they began including old photographs or family heirlooms in their sessions. Gatherings became discussions aimed at unraveling mysteries that begged to be solved. Soon thereafter, there were planned excursions around the city to revisit old homesteads, churches or places of interest where the dreams of youth evolved into adulthood and the beginnings of lifelong personalities emerged. Even after my beloved’s untimely passing, those connections continued to flourish. Months after CeCe passed, Donna gifted me with a beautiful panel containing eight family pictures of parents and siblings shown in the varied stages of youth. The collage, originally meant for CeCe, was designed so she could add pictures to the collection that could then be used to spark deeper and more interesting facts and conversations. This beautiful act transcended time and tragic circumstances, and it continues to create connections that will far outlive the transitory nature of our flesh.
We are the custodians of our own history. And it’s our familial narrative with its rich, collective stories that help us weave the saga of who and what we are. This is how the history of our world is forged, through efforts in browsing our individual life’s history and its connection to family. So much so that these connections eventually blur and become translucent. And as they begin to dissipate, we realize that divisions no longer exist; all that remains is a family that spans the length and breadth of our humanity.
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