Over the past few months, the focus of my time has been the melding of two lives into one. Part of that process has been going through boxes that my husband had stored at his daughter’s home from the house he had lived in before the passing of his first wife. This task seemed large and evoked strong emotions for members of the family, especially as they came across photographs and journals.
As I watched my husband and his adult children go through boxes, I saw them relive memories of their shared life over the years. Sweet memories of times gone by. I realized that the memories that were caught so carefully on film told a story of their family.
I offered my skills and time to help them digitize the images and compile them into an online gallery, so each member of the family could download whatever images they wanted to keep for themselves. The more time I have spent doing this, the more I feel like I have come to know each of these individuals better, especially their mother, who is no longer with us. My love for Deborah has grown as I come to see the girl that she was and watch her grow into a wife, mother, and grandmother.
Growing up, I struggled with family history work as I spent hours in the family history library with my mom and followed her to cemeteries and city buildings as she put together our family history. I felt that there wasn’t a place for me in that work.
I now realize that I have my own place in this vital work. The work of researching records and compiling names is an important part of our family history work, but there is another piece that is just as important.
Documenting is the work of compiling pictures and stories that help put faces with the names for the individuals on my family tree.
Want to join me as I share the joy I have found as I explore my involvement in this great work?
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