A Legacy of Something That Looks Like Hope
Offering a Few Warm Takes and Slow Considerations
I’ve had a candle lit all day and have already gone through two small tapers, the flames bearing tiny witness and keeping me company. The house smells of Cinnamon Vanilla thanks to our favorite Wicks and Wax by Silas.1
A few years ago I began to research my familial history and learned some interesting facts, like how my mother’s father enlisted in the military on December 1, 1941, one week before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He weighed 136 pounds. I attended his funeral in 2002 and remember him well, but I only know him as a grandfather, of course; not as a young man.
At some point I learned the name of a small town in England that at least one family member was born in, but I can’t find the record now and would need to take more time to track it down.
My connection to my own family history is thinner than I would like and I carry some sadness with me about that as I get older. While I can easily go back and name my grandparents and great grandparents on both my mother’s and father’s side, the names beyond that are foggy at best, unknown at worst. Still, I’m aware of the privilege it is to have records at all even if I haven’t yet taken full time to explore them.
Over the last few days I’ve considered the way our brains process time and our own experience. At any given moment, it seems like things will always be as they are now. My fourth and fifth grandmothers thought so, too, back when they were living.
Yesterday, after the Election results were announced, I was recording an interview for a podcast that will release the day after Inauguration Day, over two months from now. Knowing the timing of the release of the episode, the host asked me a question on behalf of people who may feel disillusioned, disappointed, and terrified about what happens next in the United States.
She asked, “What would you say to them as we head into life under a new administration?” I wish I had been more honest in my response.