I had the pleasure recently of sifting through countless piles of old photographs. They are countless for two reasons. Firstly because there are a lot of them and secondly, because every time I try to count them someone keeps moving them somewhere else. Significant occasions writ in black and white, or in fading vivid colors you are sure your relatives never dressed in, are all part of the joy that it is, to work through a visual record of your genetic heritage.
Fading, shiny papers from exotic places, transport me back in time to distant places and ages that a strand of my DNA experienced in another life. Now, somehow, they are strangely connected to form part of the strands, that carry the information that form the building blocks of who I am physically, and in so many ways, spiritually also.
Weddings of long divorced people, mingle with baby christenings of people long buried, in one wonderful blurry mosaic, a picture of life, history, legacy and heritage of what it all means for us to be family. Strangely in the reverie of it all, we easily forget the irritating habits, we overlook annoying attitudes, and the demands and the cravings for attention, for we look back with a sense of acceptance and warmth towards our forebears, knowing forbearance will be necessary for us also.
It is with nostalgia and sentimental, reassuring comfort that we look into the eyes of young smiling faces belonging to those long since dead and passed on. Remembering again that a little part of them still roams about in us so many years later on. Truly, our family is our fountain and foundation, our heritage and if the lines of connection remain.long enough, our legacy.
Perhaps understandably, as I move closer to being a part of history myself, I have started to look backwards as much as forwards, for my life's meaning and purpose.
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