Sometimes...

Sometimes it's not easy tracing your family roots.

With each direct ancestor of mine I try to write a story so those who don't want to look at the documents can make sense of what has been found and what it means.

Each time I write one of those "stories" I feel closer to my ancestor. I hope I've done them justice.

Today, those stories became harder to write. I've worked my way down the line and finished writing about those who died before I was born. Not all of them, but those on the one line I'm working on right now.

I wrote about my granddad. It's the first one I wrote about that I'd known personally. The one where I had my own memories of my ancestor to add to their story. As I thought of my version of my granddad, I remembered things about him. Things I'd forgotten. There for a brief period of time he was crystal clear in my memory. How he looked. How he sounded. The smell of his cigars. It was all there and oh how I missed him. Missed him and his quirky ways.

Then I saw who was next on my list. I stopped. How can I do this? How can I write a story about my dad? The loss all of a sudden felt too fresh again.

So, I have a list of things to get at the grocery store. I have a trip planned for the library. I'm writing a blog post.

I'm doing anything I can to not have to write about my dad in the past tense. Living with him in the past tense is harsh enough. I'm not ready to write about who he was. Not yet. There are things I don't want to share with others. Not today. Maybe this evening, or tomorrow, or next week. But not right now.

Dad will let me know when it's time. Until I get my sign from him, I will not write about him.

Sometimes working on genealogy is very, very, very hard.