After returning from NC for my uncles funeral and seeing my aunts and uncles, I was reminded again how important it is to record memories and keep a journal.
It’s a tradition for them that every time they get together they tell ghost stories, sad stories, happy stories, and any other story they can think of from their childhood.
As I sat on the carpet and listened, laughing and joining in on the joy and the facial expressions they had, I was reminded that this is why I journal. While my aunts and uncles are all well into their 60’s or older, it’s up to us, the next generation, to record and let our children know who they are and where they come from.
A lot of the stories they shared resembled ways I had behaved in certain situations and my son had reminded me so much of my uncle we had nicknamed him his “jr”.
Listening to these stories allowed me to see that nothing in my life had happened by coincidence, the good, and even some of the bad. While in those situations I may have assumed I acted on impulse, it was deeper than that, it was in my blood.
The more I write these stories and remember these moments, the more I realize I am and will always be a part of a bigger movement than just myself. I am interwoven and connected to a lifeline, a family tree, that only grows wider as we add more and more branches to those original roots.