It's been a slow, long week. Filled with so many strong and varied emotions. I am thankful for the miracles that saved my sister's life. Though weak still - she is so tiny you wouldn't believe she has had seven children - she is still here with us, and that realisation still makes me so grateful. I should be filled with joy and light, but somehow I feel as grey and empty as the sky and clothes line from my window.
How near we are to death.
Who are we - if not a sum of our histories?
Our own and our family's histories.
A dear, kind lady got in touch this week, and we discovered that we are very distant cousins. Her very great grandfather and mine were brothers.
Mine stayed in England -
Hers, the younger, emigrated to Canada!
We exchanged details, family histories, and best of all photographs!!
She had so many wonderful photographs.
And we both remarked on the similarity of features - that bound us - what a large and far-reaching family we are. Brothers and sisters all.
I think that that may be one of the reasons I love researching my family history - discovering what I am made of - not just the noses, and ears and eyes - even though they can be distinctly distinguished - but the resolve, the effort, the skills, the risks and the heartbreaks - so many deaths and so many births - until - here I am, and then mine - and soon theirs.
Is is strange to long to be a Grandmother at nearly 46?