My Dead Relatives

 

I don't even know about this blog anymore. It used to be so fun and light-hearted. When the kids were younger I'd write about motherhood, and how exhausted I was. I'd write about the funny things that they did and said. Now that they are older, things are different. They don't care for me to share, and I respect their privacy. I am a mother but not a mommy anymore. Sometimes I feel like I am coming apart at the seams. And while, in many ways, I feel like it does no good to look back - I find myself doing so all the time. It's what got me to this place to begin with. 

So today, I want to talk about my dead relatives. I am fasinated by them. I have spent years of my life searching for them and trying to find every detail. I think subconciously, I thought it would tell me something about myself. Interestly, I don't really talk to my living relatives at all. Which is ironic. The thing is, my dead relatives are uncomplicated. There are no relationships to be maintained, no secrets to be hidden. They are letters and photographs and stories. 

I was not raised by my biological mother. I never knew her family. So growing up, there was this big question mark about who I was. That's not to say that I was negatively impacted by that or plagued with an identity crisis my entire life - that's not it. But sometimes I would wonder who I looked like, or if my qualities were like anyone on my mother's side of the family. I felt connected to my father, but there was this who other side of me that I felt was missing. 

As I got older, I had children of my own and I built my own family and I gave it little thought. I moved on. Until one day in 2014. I was working in med device at the time and traveling for my job. I got back to my hotel after a long day of appointments and I switched on the television. There had been a plane crash and there was news coverage of the funeral procession - taking the bodies of the victims back to Amsterdam. 

I watched as the hearse after hearse drove through the country side. I felt what I can only describe as pins and needles all over my body. I froze and I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I knew that place. I had never seen it before, but I had been there. I felt it in my core. It was the strangest feeling in the world. I sobbed. 

I called my father. "I remember you saying I was Dutch once. Is that right?" I asked him. He knew so little. He was young when he was with my mother, and they weren't together long. "Your great grandmother was Dutch," he confirmed. 

I signed up for Ancestry.com and I immediately started digging. For years, in my spare time, that is all I did. I searched records and tried to connect things and verify things. Interestingly, my father's side is where I hit the most dead ends. His family on both sides immigrated to the United States within the past 120 years. My mother's side is where I hit the jackpot. It was interesting, because I was born and raised up North and moved to South Carolina about 13 years ago but my ancestors were from North Carolina for hundreds of years. They came to Virginia first, and then to Eastern North Carolina. I have many connections to South Carolina. My father's grandfather's natualization papers were signed in South Carolina when he was in Parris Island. He was in the Marines during World War 1. Absolute badass. 

One of the most exciting things was seeing all of the military records. I'm thinking of applying to the Daughters of the American Revolution because I have a handful of direct relatives who served. I do have some favorite ancestors. There was a blurb about one who signed up to serve in the Revolution when he was in his 50's. He was born in 1721. He was old as hell for the 1770's and he was like, "America is great. I might be old, but I'm ready to fight because freedom is the f*cking best." I'm just paraphrasing. But, honestly- what an absolute badass. I have an ancestor who served for the North Carolina milita during the Civil War. After the war, the census records listed him as "lunatic" and "insane." I wonder what happened to him. What did he see? Did he have PTSD? I think about his wife, Brittan. She stayed with him the whole time. I wonder what her life was like. 

I learned so much about the Dutch side. My 2nd great grandfather was an art dealer near Amsterdam. Owned Rembrants. He sold art to Nazi agents under duress to buy passage for the family out of the Netherlands. What a badass. That whole side of the family is Jewish. They kept impeccable records. They included their occupation on their marriage certificates which is so cool. But there were some shocking things. As I was searching records and filling in my tree, I kept seeing relatives that died in 1943 in Poland. It took a minute to register in my head for some reason, but when it did, my heart sank. I have 3 direct relatives that died in concentration camps in Poland. My 2nd great grandmother and granfather were killed at Sobidor and my 3rd great grandfather was killed at Auschwitz. He was 76 year old. His name was Micheal. 

I've wondered about him a lot. Imagine living your entire life and that is how it ends. His wife had died 9 year earlier and I wonder if he was glad she wasn't around in the end. If he felt that she had esaped some terrible fate. I wonder if he was scared at the end, or angry, or sad, or accepting. 

I even discovered some interesting things about my father's side of the family. My grandfather's paternal side has been illusive which makes me upset, but his mother's side has been good to me. She lived in Northern Ireland during the Irish War of Independence and gave birth alone once - she also is a badass and I love her so much. 

Her great grandfather owned a farm in Dongal. He was born in 1799 and I found a picture of him. He lived to be 91. My great grandmother was 92 when she died so I hope I can get up to their level. 

My father's mother was Italian. My grandmother died when she was 56 and I found her high school year book picture and a blurb about how she loved to dance, and how she sold tickets to the school play. She hated cats and was in the Spanish Club. She wanted to get married and have children one day. She did. I used census records to find the house that she lived in. It's still standing and I found a Google satillite image. I've always heard stories of her as a wife and a mother and it was neat to get a little glipse of who SHE was. 

When I was done with my tree, I started on my husbands. His was much harder. First of all, all of the records are in Spanish. Second of all, everyone is Puerto Rico has the same 5 names. I'm like, which Carmen Gonzalez born in 1858 is it. 

He did his DNA test before I finished his tree. He was speculating. He was hoping for some Italian because he was 100% positive he is Roman. He is obsessed with Rome. He feels connected to Rome. I think he was disappointed when it came back and there was no Italy. But like 18% North African which surprised him. 

I continued to work on his tree and came to a lot of dead ends. Except for 1 line. I traced it all the way back to Extremadura, Spain. I did some digging and this is in Extremadura:

The city was a Roman colony and one of the most important cities in Roman Hispania. I was so excited. He was totally pumped with I told him. It was like confirming something that his soul knew already. 

He used to be really into the study of how DNA hold memories and how our life experiences can be passed on from generation to generation. We totally geek out on stuff like that. I totally believe it. We have this dream that we will travel to all the places of our ancestors.

When I read the stories of my ancestors, about their lives and their deaths, I feel like I know them somehow. Like there was a piece of the puzzle missing and now I have it. Who am I? Where did I come from? I am the daughter of patriots, farmers, Holocaust victims and survivors, settlers, people who were brave and hearty. These are the people that gave life to me. I love that so much.