Memories In Blood

Researching my family tree has been a journey, particularly when it comes to my father’s side. There has been a lot of estrangement and people who died young. For the longest time we only had fragments and vague clues. Being able to devote time to building out the family tree has uncovered a few surprising details.

For the longest time my father did not know the name of his paternal grandfather, a man who died before my father was even born. We found that his paternal grandfather was named Matthew. Matthew is also my father’s middle name. It was hidden in plain sight all these years. 

My father also has a lifelong passion for baking. For the longest time it seemed like an isolated interest that my dad enjoyed. In researching his mother’s branch of the family tree, I found three generations of people with the last name Semmler, which was an occupational name for a baker. Maybe baking is in the blood after all.

My father and I also love the mountains. Our DNA has strong hits in mountainous regions in south Poland. I have always enjoyed colder weather. Having been raised in Florida I assumed I craved the exotic. Mountains and cold weather deeply contrasted the flat, swampy state I grew up in. Now I see that our love of mountains calls back to places that our ancestors made home.

I remember as a kid we had computer disc that had lots of educational programs on it. There was a section of the disc that had a few sample phrase is each language. I would spend hours going through all the languages, clicking on the phases and getting to hear the words spoken by native speakers. There were so many interesting languages, but I remember being particularly fond of the Slavic languages. Looking back I wonder if there was some recognition of a language that would have been so familiar just a few short generations ago. 

In my quest to gather documents I received my father’s birth certificate. As I unfolded the paper I found another piece of information about my grandmother; one I had been hoping to come across. She died in 1960, when my father was only twelve years old. Her middle name had been a mystery for years. It was Helen. I was stunned when I finally saw it in print. 

I joined the SCA back in 2018 to start fencing. Within the group, everyone chooses a persona and a name from roughly the medieval period. I chose the name Hélèna, not knowing until now that it had been my grandmother’s middle name. 

It’s little things like uncovering the connection to the name Helen, or making dinner from one of her handwritten recipe cards. These make me feel like I have a connection to someone who passed before I was born, who I would have very much loved to know. 

I’ve always wondered if my great-great-grandfather marveled at the sunsets as he crossed the Atlantic to get to America, or if my great-grandmother liked the song birds better in her new home or if she missed the familiar birds she heard growing up. I wonder if my affinity for rescuing stray cats came from my grandfather, who always seemed to look out for the neighborhood cats.

And then I think of this website. A collection of thoughts, opinions, insights and observations. All stitched through person experience and artistic expression. I catalog all these things out of love and a desire to create, but on some level I wonder if I create so there are still pieces of me left to find. So no one has to wonder who I was.