Uncovering family history: A journey through time and tombstones

Rooted in the Past

I’ve come to the realization that nearly everything I do or love is rooted in the past. I try to live in the moment, but the past keeps whispering to me. It pulls me back in time and asks me to not let it be forgotten.

To some, my love and research of family history may seem obsessive and meaningless, a waste of time. Sometimes I’m asked why it matters. It matters because my grandfathers and grandmothers I’ve never met are telling me to not let it be forgotten and to share the history. Our families are who they are because of choices our ancestors made, good or bad.

Some people think it’s creepy or weird that I’m in cemeteries so much. I don’t want to see ghosts or spirits or feel scared; I’m just there doing a job.

At the beginning of my journey as a tombstone tourist, the main attraction was the artwork and beauty of some of the headstones.

As children our parents taught us to be respectful in graveyards; to not walk on the graves, to not be loud or run through them, to not be in them at night.

Final resting places were sacred, and must be treated as such. These principles may have been ingrained in our family’s beliefs due to superstition on the part of our parents. For whatever reason, we were taught these things, and I still apply these rules to my visits to God’s Acre.

If I do step on graves in the course of taking photos, I apologize, although they may not hear me. I sometimes let the sleeping souls know why I’m there in their space, even if they’re not paying attention.

It’s sad to be forgotten after you’ve gone, and these souls deserve to be linked to their loved ones. So, through research, I attempt to connect family members to one another. Everyone should have family alongside them in life and in the hereafter.

My house contains more old things than new. Given a choice I will choose vintage over new, always. Antiques have more meaning, character, history, and mystery surrounding them.

To have a pitcher in my house that once belonged to my great-grandmother nearly 150 years ago, is an honor. Perhaps she poured cool water or milk from it. To find an old book or Bible at a thrift store with a family name inscribed in it, and to be able to return it to that same family is also an honor.

Even my love of plants, flowers, and gardening lies in the past, due to having a mother who had literally hundreds of plants inside and outside her home.

I know plants, recognize them, know their use, because of my mom. I also collect, covet, and spend too much money on plants, due to my sentimental connection to the plants my mom had when I was a kid. These roots run deep.