tombstone stands among the rest
Neglected and alone.
The name and the date are chiseled out
On polished, marbled
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died and
I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this
And come to visit you.
Beatitudes of a Family Genealogist
Blessed are the great grandmothers, who hoarded newspaper clippings and old
For they tell the story of their time.
Blessed are all the grandfathers who filed every legal document,
this provides proof.
Blessed are grandmothers who preserved family Bibles and diaries,
For this is our heritage.
Blessed are fathers who elect officials that answer letters of inquiry,
For some, this is their only link to the
Blessed are mothers who relate family traditions and legends to the family,
For one of her children will
Blessed are the relatives who fill in family sheets with extra data,
For them we owe the family
Blessed is any family whose members strive for the preservation of records,
For theirs is a labour of
Blessed are the children who will never say,
"Grandma, you have told that old story twice today."