I've committed to getting at least some semblance of a family history ready to be put in book form for one of my family names this year. It is a little overwhelming.
I'm reading and transcribing stories told long ago and becomming connected and acquainted with those long gone. Soon the realization dawns that I actually miss them, long to know them, hear their voices, see their smiles. Their stories will break my heart and make me laugh.
Human history just seems to be the same in all places and all times. Stories of love, loss, triumph, sorrow, struggle. The stories of us. It's comforting, in a way. No matter what I'm going through, I'm certain I'm not the first and won't be the last. Others have survived it before me and will survive it long after I've gone home.
