For the first time in 20 years, I’m on the hunt for a long lost ancestor.
Last time I looked for this guy, I discovered his parents, siblings, children. Yet there was no sign he’d been born into the family that raised him.
That’s how my research stayed for a long time.
Yesterday, I found his biological parents – definitely different than the folks who raised him. And quite possibly a different line than I was hoping for.
That missing piece
Funny, how we always look for that missing piece – the missing relative, the runaway cat, the lost puppy – and we’re not satisfied until we know their status. Happy endings preferred, of course.
I wonder whether we’re just trying to plug holes to cover up cracks in our lives … or if what we’re really after is wholeness or belonging, regardless of the amount of ugly it takes to get there.
For this ancestor, I always wanted to know whether he was born to different parents than those he grew up with. Now I have my answer, and I still want more. I want the whole story.
Perhaps his mom died during childbirth, or maybe he’s the stepchild, “the milkman’s son,” as it were. Who cares. He’s my relative, and now I feel responsible to bring his story to life.
Oh – it looks like our shot at being related to Spanish/Mexican nobility is going downhill…fast.