My Family History. I am Doing It.

For me, recording our family history is more than creating a family tree. It is, in essence, capturing a memory.

I’m the kind of person that remembers a time and place by the color of the walls and the smell of what was cooking in the kitchen. Sights and smells help jog my memory; a memory that might otherwise be forgotten. They are intertwined so much that they cannot be complete when apart.

As a child I remember hearing stories of my paternal grandmother. She died before I was born, but I always felt close to her because of the stories that my father told me. I went to bed every night begging to hear more about this woman I had never seen with my earthly eyes. I was told, “She would have loved you.” I have always known that, but I still wish I could have made cookies with her in her kitchen so I could remember that smell. I wish I could have seen what lipstick she wore so I could remember that color. I wish I could have had more than an imaginary picture in my mind to match the stories I was told. That vital piece of memory was missing for me.
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