We’ve come to the end of the road…

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Quite honestly, I don’t remember the last time I took flight on a time traveling adventure or when I even had the time to write about those trips and discoveries… Life has truly been life-ing and taking me on its own roller coaster ride.

But, enough about me. The time machine has been turned on once again and an ancestor’s story beckons to be told.

About a month ago, my best friend and I some how happened upon her desire to work on her family tree… It is beyond me that I had never shared with her the giddiness that explodes within me when it comes to looking for our ancestors and telling their stories and yet during the course of our 8 year relationship- this passion of mine had not even once been acknowledged. Hmmm…

Never-the-less, here we were sitting on my couch delving through the records. And we were having a grand ole time. So much so that we didn’t even notice two hours had passed! We agreed that it was time to call it a night and that I would get back to it when I had the time and maybe even some better resources.

***It should be noted that neither of us had access to the Big A of genealogy and I was in the last weeks of planning and DIYing my upcoming nuptials, so neither of us were expecting to get back to it any time soon.***

Except, I couldn’t move on… I went to bed or tried to, anyway, with her paternal line front and center. I stayed up way longer than I should have searching and searching and I made a promise to myself and her lineage that I would find the stories and I would tell them.

And here we are in Lenoir, North Carolina, US of A, where the buck will presumably move no further. And this is where our story begins.

Before we take this deep dive, let us remember that I tell the story of what may have been using as many facts proven by evidence as possible. Absolutely no ill-will or malice of any kind is intended to anyone now living. (I hope that is disclaimer enough for us to move on.)

That house sits in Lenoir, North Carolina and according to https://www.guypotts.net/walterjunior/walterdunn.html, it is the place where Shadrack Loftin lived with his family circa the 1800’s. Admittedly, I have not been there, YET… (but I am already eagerly planning a visit)

Anywhho, Mr. Shadrack Loftin is a farmer, who appears to have some wealth, as in 1850, he has at minimum 10 slaves. This is a punch to the gut, for sure- especially when it is your first time observing a slave schedule and even more so when you realize that one of the slaves listed among those belonging to the Loftin families of Lenoir is a 6 month old baby.

Alas, slavery is indeed a part of our history and like it or not, it is something we cannot change, so I managed to swallow my shock, frustration and anger and focus on the task at hand:

Finding Robert Loftin, a black man- presumably a slave- in Lenoir, North Carolina, getting to know him and telling his story, ensuring that he is not forgotten or lost in history.

I don’t remember how I first met Mr. Robert Loftin, but I do remember confirming his existence in the 1870 census, where he is listed as a farm laborer. In that moment, I briefly questioned if he was “working” on the very farm where he’d been enslaved, but I was on the hunt for the first time in ages and didn’t have the inclination to ponder. Or so I thought.

I went through the records as any good family historian and hobby loving genealogist would do. I learned about his children, who they married, where they lived, etc. But none of that was enough.

I kept returning to the place where I confirmed him to be a real person… and knew I had to dig deeper. It is believed that only a small percentage of freed slaves took the last name of their former slave owners and so on a hope and a prayer, I started searching for white men with the last name of Loftin in Lenoir, NC and I feel like I hit the jackpot. There was indeed a Loftin family, as noted above. But, simply finding a family with the same last name does not a mystery solve, so I methodically went through each family member’s slave schedule even though I was inexplicably drawn to Shadrach. It is impossible to prove, unless I am lucky enough to find a will or some other document with his name listed, but, I believe Shadrack Loftin is the owner and connection I was looking for… and Robert could be either of the 28 year old males listed.

Since the Civil War had only recently ended (5 years prior), had he also been made to fight alongside his owner in defense of the nastiness that was slavery?

Robert would have been 39 years old when war broke out. And 40 when the war came to Lenoir (the Battle of Kinston). If Robert hadn’t been voluntold to march off to war with Shadrach, was he left at home on the farm and tasked with helping and/or protecting Mrs. S. Loftin and their children? Did he hunker down in the slave quarters with his fellow enslaved men and women whilst the Union and Confederate troops fought throughout the days? Was he called upon to fetch the bodies of dead, dying or injured Confederate men by night? Did he think himself brave and try to stop the troops on both sides from plundering the livestock or food storehouses or the innocence of his owners? And why did he remain in Lenoir, North Carolina after the aforementioned battle, which was won by the Union (surely, they would have proclaimed the freedom of Lenoir, North Carolina’s enslaved people, right? Was the unknown freedom so daunting as to keep him in place where he knew the existing evils of life? Or perhaps, Robert Loftin was a man of noble character and could not leave his master’s wife and children to fend for themselves, no matter how horrid (or not) they may have once been.

I choose to believe the latter, especially after getting to know his descendants; that nobility and fierce loyalty seem to be a characteristic each possess. And the thought of him slaughtering soldiers like one did pigs is a plight I refuse to assign him. I would like to believe, however false my narrative, that Robert Loftin was a gentle giant.

Whatever his service was during the Civil War, Robert Loftin survived (as did his former owner) and lived what I know was a fulfilling life full of love, education and growth- despite the obstacles that would come during the reconstruction era for black people in the United States and I can’t wait to discover the documents to prove it! Thus, we have come to the end of the road… for now!

So…. what about you? What fascinating document discoveries have you made since we last traveled together? I’d love to hear all about them down in the comment section!

See you on the next adventure!

(PS- the feature photo came from Curtis Loftin via https://history.loftinnc.com/Civil_War.htm)

Missing In Action…

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

There’s an attention grabber, if I ever saw one, huh? Well, maybe it isn’t such a grab for attention as one would think… Especially since this is a blog about time traveling to the past and meeting members of my family.

Except, the person whom we are all about to meet isn’t long dead and didn’t get lost in a war or anything like that. In fact, today’s story is about a real live person.

WAIT! Don’t leave! I promise I am not violating any HIPPA or other laws. I also promise that we’ll meet some dead people next time.

So, without further adieu, the MIA person is…

ME.

That’s right. The author of this time traveling blog has been missing (at least in the space of these adventures), however, she is back! And quite ready to jump into her time traveling spaceship to bring you stories of the past.

But before we can take that deep dive and start climbing out on branches I wanted to give you a little explanation of what’s been happening these last 4+ years-

The short of it all is that I stopped listening to dead people, stopped trying to find them and lost interest in their stories. The long of it is that I am human with other aspects of my life growing and being crazy and consuming my attention. I did things with my living family, I accomplished things I hadn’t ever been bold enough to believe I could do and I spent a ton of time re-establishing a relationship and love affair with me.

Cue the shameless plug or you can just consider this a word from our sponsors- where you learn that I am actually an undercover Spoken Word Artist and Entertainer and I have released an album…

This is not the kind of Spoken Word hidden away in a Speak Easy, under the cover of cello strings. This is Spoken Word that speaks to your soul, stirs the air and tickles your ear. This is Spoken Word that demands to be heard. Wordspiration AWAKENS by Special K is available NOW for digital download!

Oddly, during our separation, I never canceled my ancestry membership… it was an unplanned break up after all, and I still needed that little string of attachment. Don’t judge me- we’ve all been there.

I’m sure you have heard of this not so pesky thing that happened and shut the world down in 2020, but even in that time of quiet, I was pursuing other interests (see commercial break above or visit our sponsor for a quick listen) and really didn’t think about or miss this passion. Growth, I guess.

Fast forward to January 2, 2022… Sheer boredom combined with the realization that Ancestry had just robbed me again lead me through its doors. And, I stumbled upon a thing. I have been on the site and numerous others every day since. I still have my other passions, but I’ve learned balance. Sort-of. The wheels of creativity have started their engines and they are a turning full speed ahead.

I can’t wait to bring you the story of B.A.J. (the one that pulled me back in) as well as the stories of the dead living with us- IN OUR HOUSE and so much more.

I don’t even know if you are still there. I hope you are and I hope you are well. Let’s catch up. Who, where, when are you all researching? How’s it going? How has life been? Tell me all the things. I am here in the comments, ready to listen.

The Music Machine

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

A few weeks ago, I made an amazing discovery, while helping my S.O. go through his mom’s belongings. Okay, technically, I didn’t ‘discover’ anything. Everyone knew it was there, except for me… I can’t even really say I found it, because, again- everyone knew it was there, collecting dust- except for me. Hmmm. At any rate, I was estatic over this piece of history.

It was an 8 track player and a box of 8 track tapes!

I don’t know about you, but for me, this was like finding evidence of an urban myth. I’d heard about these players, but never actually seen or touched one.

My giddiness quadrupled when I finally figured out how it worked and was able to hear a few measures of song.

Immediately, I knew I would write about this piece of ancient technology, but as this is a blog about traveling back in time to meet people, not find things, I had to wait for someoneto start talking.

I didn’t have to wait long before I kept getting images of someone dancing in a kitchen. She had a beautiful afro and a gorgeous, invigorating smile, yet I had no idea who she was.

When a cousin posted some pictures of her mom on social media, I knew I’d found my mystery afro-wearing kitchen dancer.

Allow me to introduce you all to my cousin, Joy Elizabeth Jackson, whom I’m absolutely positive was FABULOUS in life.

Joy was born in 1958 and sadly passed away in 2001, from a massive heart attack. She was 43 years old.

Unfortunately, I have no recollection of ever meeting her, though I am told she attended my dad’s funeral in 1997 and that she was extremely close to my Glory-Glory, who I am also partial to, so it stands to reason I would have met her at least once, but alas I’ve no memory of her. I wish I did, because she sounds like a character and very much like my dad. I’m sure I would have instantly loved and gravitated toward her.

Joy loved her music. Perhaps this is why she showed up dancing in a kitchen. When I talked to her daughter, she told me that she still had Joy’s 8 tracks and records, another sign that I had found the right ancestor for this story.

But apart from dancing and enjoying music, what else was there to tell the world about Joy? For starters, she loved being a mom and a grandmother… Her family was her heart in every sense of the word.

In fact, she loved her kids so much, that in her last year’s, she hid her problems with her heart from her children, so as not to worry them and she dealt with it quietly by herself. Her strength was a recognizable trait and she continues to this day to be remembered by it.

As I was trying to get to know Joy, I was constantly reminded of my father… Like him, Joy was always smiling and loved to play. She would often gather her children (and any others around) into the car (I picture her driving a station wagon, but there’s no evidence of this) and going for a drive to destination no where. This was also one of my dad’s favorite pastime. It is becoming easier and easier to understand why they would have been fond of each other.

Like most families of the time, Joy made sure her children understood Saturday morning chores. She also ensured her kids were in church. Values were an important part in raising her children and she imparted many wisdoms into her babies. Treating others how you want to be treated, without being a fool and remembering that everyone’s heart is different from yours, so as long as you do the right thing, your blessings will come are still living on in the form of her daughter and granddaughter.

Also evident in her offspring, is a hard work ethic. For most of her children’s lives, she worked in the dryer cleaning industry. Her children and grandchildren may not work in dry cleaning, but they do work and they follow Joy’s example- you can have whatever you like out of this life, you just have to work for it.

I know Joy lived a full life, even if it seems cut short to us. So, today, I think I will turn up my Temptations Christmas album and do some dancing in the kitchen- a salute to Joy and the special lady she was.

I’d love to hear from you! Have you made any interesting or remarkable finds? Did they remind you of someone in your tree? Who? Leave me a comment telling me all about it or them or both! As always, the like, share and follow buttons are your friends!!!

The Last Pair of Shoes

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

Happy New Year! I hope you all have had a wonderful first few weeks of 2018. Holidays bring so much excitement into our home that it seems to take the first half of the new month to get adjusted and back into the swing of things.

Honestly, I would have happily taken another few days off, but I couldn’t.

For the last week, my uncle has been begging me to talk to him. Incessantly pestering me. Do you know how annoying that is? He showed up in my dreams. When I should have been concentrating or working on something else, he would pop in and disrupt whatever train had been chugging along.

The last straw was a few nights ago, when I found myself dreaming of him, once again. It was time to do some super sleuthing. Well, not that much, because how hard can it be to gather information on a 7 year old boy?

Apparently, getting to know a 7 year old boy, whom several of your immediate family members knew, is actually pretty difficult.

Ancestry, of who I have come to rely on to pick up the sent, kept coming back to me empty-handed. I swear she just walked to the doors of her cavernous rooms, glanced around and then came back and said, “I didn’t see it.” I sent her back three or four times to double check and each time, it was the same, unapologetic response…

Family Search wasn’t much help, either, though it did return with a headstone picture. This would have been fantastic, if I hadn’t taken the picture.

Mom and Nana were of minimal help. When asked to tell me about him, both immediately began to describe for me his last months- the hospital stay, what he looked like at the time and his and their reactions to seeing him thusly.

 

Born on April 3, 1954, Edward Lothario Jackson was a happy boy. He loved running and playing outside, especially with his wagon. He probably played the most with my mom, because they were closest in age among all the children. He learned his recitations (poems Nana and Granddaddy selected for the children to memorize and then recite on request) fairly quickly and loved to recite those poems for anyone who would ask. Though he went to school very briefly- a single semester- he did very well and made good marks. He smiled a lot and was very loving. He was given the nick name (which is was only used by the family and surely would have faded away by the time he reached 10) of Turdy Boy- though no one could recall how he came to acquire such a name. Perhaps, as Nana suggested, it was because Lothario was so hard to pronounce or maybe they were teasing him because of his habit of thumb sucking.

According to mom, he resembled my brother a bit (an interesting tid-bit, because when he visited with me in my dreams, he had a cherub face-  mixture between my brother and the baby)

One morning, in March of 1961, he fell over as he got out of the bed. When Nana tried to help him stand up, he could not. He was taken to the only hospital in the area, Mary Washington, located in Fredericksburg, Virginia. There was only one pediatrician in the area and he called MCV, a bigger hospital, an hour south in Richmond. The consulting doctor came and the two concluded he was being affected by encephalitis or lead poisoning. It was suggested that he be transferred to the big hospital for treatment. This was not to be, as Nana and Granddaddy didn’t know anyone in Richmond, who they could stay with for the duration of his hospital stay. Instead, he went north to Children’s Hospital in Washington, DC.

Lothario's Shoes.jpg

These are Lothario’s last pair of shoes. Shoes, he would never outgrow and never wear again.

Almost immediately upon his arrival, doctors discovered he was afflicted by neither of the aforementioned illnesses. Little Lothario had a tumor on his brain. After two surgeries, doctors would know that his cancer would lead to a fast approaching death. There was no mass of cancer for them to operate on, as it had latched on and spread throughout his brain, like a spider web.

One week before the arrival of death, his brother and sisters, as well as other family members gathered in his hospital room to say good bye to a brother, son, nephew  and cousin. This is the traumatic memory that has stuck with his survivors… In sharing his story, I hope to erase this vision, which has cemented itself in the minds of those who remember him and replace it with the delightful boy he was.

I imagine his imminent death would be painful and stressful, as he would loose his faculties… First his speech and then his sight, it is unclear if he lost the ability to feel, but doctors assured Nana that he could hear them up until the end.

Having so little to share about him, I have to wonder why he has so persistently been at me to visit with him…

Lothario

 

A few months ago, just before my children’s father left this land of the living, my father came and visited with me. He didn’t speak, didn’t present a story or nugget of information- he just sat with me a moment in my dreams and then disappeared leaving two butterflies behind. When my father died, a group of butterflies flew up into the sky as they were bringing him out of the church… From that moment on, every sighting of a butterfly has brought with it a peaceful understanding and remembrance of him. And so, I knew deep within the recesses of my brain that my former husband would soon be taking his last breath…

Earlier this week, doctors said that there was nothing left they could do for a family member- who has a brain tumor, which from my understanding has spread out so much cannot be operated on or removed… Could little Lothario be coming to prepare me for yet another death?

No one knows and certainly, only God can determine the time when someone’s dash is at an end. I find comfort in knowing that sometime’s the stories the dead tell me help to make be better prepared to accept things happening today.

Have you ever had an experience where an ancestor’s story seemed to mimic a story of a living family member? Did it bring you comfort and/or peace or some other feeling? Leave me a comment and let me know. And you know, I’ll never turn down a like or a share- so be free with those, too!

Traditional Christmas

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

Merry Christmas From my home and family to yours, I would love to wish you a very Merry Christmas! (Just a few days after the fact) I hope the holiday has been everything you needed it to be and that you were blessed by it.

Did you put up a Christmas tree or decorate your home? I’d love to see pictures- drop them in the comments so we can all enjoy them! We put up a Christmas tree and stockings, but we didn’t do the string of lights on our back porch like we have done in year’s past.

Christmas Tree

I enjoyed spending the day with my family and friends and I learned a little something about Christmas traditions, too!

Fruit in Stocking     When asked what Christmas was like for them when they were growing up, during the 1930s and 40s, both my grandparents responded in much the same way- even though they were asked at separate times and not even in the same room as each other.

According to my granddaddy, they were happy with each other ( he had eleven siblings) and they each got an apple, an orange and raisins. Nana said that they did the same thing she was doing (cooking). It is not hard to imagine Nana in the kitchen with her mother and her sister preparing the family meal. When I pressed Nana on the question of what Christmas was like when she was a child, she informed me that they received grapes, an orange and raisins. Both my grandparents said they sometimes had a radio, depending if there were batteries or not. Next time I visit, I am going to need to spend time hunting through the pictures for these radios, as I am sure it will make an interesting find. My grandfather elaborated on this by reminding me that they didn’t have the things we have today (grocery stores), so it was a special treat to get something like that. Oh, yes there was a Christmas tree, unfortunately, I forgot to ask what it was decorated with… Darn it. A visit in the near future is in high demand to sit in the formal living room and go through all of those photo albums, where I am sure a picture of the tree is hiding in the crevices… I hope.

candy cane stocking     It was the same wit my mom and aunt. Both shared that they got fruit and candy canes in their stockings and usually a doll baby or an accessory. I didn’t get a chance to ask my uncle, so unfortunately, I don’t know what kinds of presents the boys received. My mom did say that they would have board games and all of them- there were seven in total-  would play those games together. Ack. As I am writing this, I am realizing all kinds of questions I forgot to ask. I decidedly did not have my journalism hat on on this day… because of this, I cannot, sadly, tell you what kinds of board games they played or even what was the most desired toy of the era or anything like that.

I can tell you the family had a TV (my mom actually sounded offended that I would ask her if they had one) and a favorite show to watch was Red Skeleton. After the reaction I received when I asked about even having a television, I didn’t even bother asking if it was a black and white or color set.

When my siblings and I were younger, we did receive an orange and a candy cane in our stockings, along with little trinkets and bobbles, but the real ‘treasures’ were underneath the tree. We would receive things like Barbies and every imaginable accessory, Cabbage Patch dolls and their accoutrements and must haves. We never really ate the fruit, I distinctly remember my dad sitting at the card table pealing a pilfered orange and cracking some nuts while we oohed and ahhed over the wonderful things Santa had delivered unto us and eventually, the oranges and candy canes faded away. Have there been traditions within your family that have faded to black? Would you ever bring them back? For me, I will leave the oranges to my memories, as my kids don’t really eat them, but I have brought the candy canes back to life without even knowing I was resurrecting a forgotten tradition. Instead of being nestled in stockings, I hang them on my tree and have them on a tray by the front door- a welcoming offering to anyone who comes or goes… (though, I am not certain they will be back next year, as the toddler discovered them this year and probably ate all of them by himself!)

Anyway, I am going to let you get back to your Holiday fun now. I just wanted to pop in and say hello and invite you on a quick trip down memory lane. I’ve already asked you a ton of questions, so I won’t trouble you with more. I look forward to reading about your traditions in the comments.

Picture 1 of 6

And like that record player we got one year from Fisher Price, I will repeat myself again and again… I appreciate likes and shares, so be generous with them, thanks!

There’s A Mystery Afoot

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

magnifying glass     Had to break out the magnifying glass on this one, folks! I recently decided to revisit my relatives in my Jackson/Hamn tree on Ancestry, because you kow, that’s what I do. Plus, the dead really have been quite silent these last few weeks.

Anywho, there I was excited because there were a ton of NEW LEAVES!!! I love new leaves, they make it so easy for the dead to start coversations with me- or maybe, they make my ears more in tune to their chattering. Whatever the case may be, it is safe to say I was estatic and I happily began checking out the leaves, not even caring if anyone talked to me or not.

And wouldn’t you know it? Someone started talkig to me almost immediately! Roxanne Tyler flagged me down with her death cerificate. Roxy, as she was called while living, was born in 1859 to Gabriel and Martha Tyler and she is my third great aunt. The Tyler name may sound familiar to you because, they’ve been rather chatty this year ad her brother and nephew were featured earlier in He Was The Son of a Preacher Man…

This is all mundane information and I am sure you are wondering why I was calling the mystery squad, right? Well, here is the thing… She was 51 years old when she died in 1933.

Here’s a copy of her death certificate and a copy of the 1870 Census- I’ll wait while you do the math…

 

It didn’t add up for me either. At first, I was confused as how someone could just magically drop twenty-three years off with no one noticing- I mean if that’s the case, then I would like to be 25, please and thank you.

But that isn’t how life works, is it?

I started meticulously reviewing all of the information I had on Ms. Roxy, trying to identify the point in her life when she shaved all those years off. I figured this woud be done most easily in the census records, because they were notorious for errors or jotting down whatever they felt like… No such luck. Each subsequent census shows her age with only a slight variance in her age, ranging from a year to three year difference, but not the twenty plus, I was looking for. Not to mention that the final census she is found in, has her at seventy years old.

Her marriage record indicates she was twenty-three when she married Mr. James Morton on July 25, 1883. Here, her birth year is 1860. So, again, not enough of a difference to cause any alarm or concern.

This is about the time that Roxy stopped talking to me and I was really wishing the Mystery Squad would hurry up and answer the call I had put out.

While I was waiting, I began to ponder how a body would behave if it was twenty years older than what you were telling people it was… I mean mind over matter goes a long way, but is it really possible to convince a body to act and behave as a younger body- if you just convince your mind to believe it? Again, if that’s the case, then I believe with all my might that I am twenty-five… I wonder how long it will be before everything else falls into place? 😉

This was getting me absolutely no where and my brain was starting to hurt from all the work of thinking… I decided to take one more look at the death certificate. Naturally, Roxxy started whispering sweet nothings in my ear, again. I looked over and over the death certification looking for clues and I was continuously drawn to the informant; Ada Morton Mercer, aka, the daughter of Roxy Tyler Morton. How in he world does an adult child not know how old her parent is? This was difficult to fathom, because my own children, excepting the toddler, know how old I am and have known this information since they were in elementary school. Am I the lone parent that encourages her children to know things about her other than ‘I am called mom’? I hardly think I am.

Ada Mercer. Why did Roxy keep directing me to her? I could not figure it out. I guess Roxy was getting frustrated with me, because the next thing I know, she was seemingly screaming at me, “do the math dummy!” (Yeah, my dead people can be a bit harsh when you aren’t moving fast enough to their liking…)

I can imagine that Ada was very distraught over loosing her mother and may have even been a bit tired, exhausted or even depressed, which is why when the form asked for the age of the deceased, she listed her own age, 51, in response.

Yep. Roxy was getting me all worked up over her daughter. I haven’t had a chance to dig in and see what’s going on over there, but when I do, I will be sure to let you all know!

Have you come across a for or other document that contained wrong information? How did you go about finding the correct info? Once you found the right stuff, did you make any effort to get the wrong things changed? Why or why not? For me, I think I will just make a note on Roxanne in my tree and leave it at that. I don’t think it would be worth it to get the information changed anywhere else.

I can’t wait to hear about how the wrong info has affected you in your searching! And like always, please share, share, share! I’m not picky, so I won’t tur away your likes and comments, either!

Who’s Sitting at Your Table?

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

Well, we’ve wrapped up yet another Thanksgiving… 

 and   some of us may be already moving with warp speed into Christmas festivities. Admittedly, I will be joining the Christmas-ers in just a few short hours, but first, an important question- who has been lucky enough to have been given a seat at your table? 

Understand I don’t mean your literal table, though… I’m wanting to know about your table of life. How does someone get a prized spot, if you will, (who isn’t blood related) in your family?

Would you ever consider having non blood or genetically tied people in your tree? Why or why not?

I used to think my answer to that question was simply, “no” because those people do not have a place in the piece of history-documenting I’m doing, otherwise known as my family tree- no matter how special they were or are.

Upon closer thought though, my answer seems to be changing… 

It started with the passing of Anthony… Throughout the entire process of his illness and death, we were received and treated as his family, even though I was just the ex wife and my youngest daughter was just my child… I was even more surprised to find that my youngest, as well as four other children, who shared an immensely close bond with him, were included and listed as his own in the obituary. (The sentence read something like, ‘he leaves behind several children by blood and love’…) Yet, there was no distinction between those four and his two natural born children.

This little tid bit may have enraged some, but I was warmed by the thought that my youngest child would be included with her older siblings, though I must say, I did take approximately two seconds to ponder the havoc this would wreak for future historians or genealogists. In the end, I determined that I didn’t much care, as there will be other records to tell the story and eventually, I will be able to include it as a side note in my own tree.

The changing of my thoughts were further solidified during yesterday’s dinner. As I looked around at the people who had gathered in my home, to celebrate a day of being thankful and among friends and family, I realized I wasn’t with just friends. These folks had become my family. (In the last two years, I’ve gained an unofficially adopted daughter, three brothers (in love), a nephew (in love), a spouse and more… Except, I’m not married and I might not ever be (that institution works for some and not others, which is where I will leave that conversation). 

Does having a piece of paper mean that these people get to be included in my tree, while not having a piece of paper means they should be excluded? I don’t think so. 

This morning, when I was considering who in my tree I would write about or what topic I might explore in this week’s time traveling adventure, I kept coming back to my present day family. I want history to know they existed; that they were more than close friends, boarders or other random people you may find on a census or in some worker’s notes.

 I wonder if this prompting to write about the present was pushed by someone from the past, who didn’t get to formally recognize their unique family? Hmmm. Maybe the dead have been talking to me more today than I realized…

What about you all? Where do you stand? Leave a comment letting me know and if this post made you have any kind of reaction, hit the ‘like’ button… And since we’re entering the season of giving, you should go ahead and give me a share as well! 

Until next time, my friends!

When Death Comes Knocking…

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

I have to apologize to those of you who have become accustomed to my snarky and somewhat sarcastic writing style, because this won’t be like that… I can’t even bring myself to apologize for not writing for so long, can’t bring myself to say things like life got in the way, because that isn’t what happened… Yes, my family and I were living life, but we were doing so much more than that… We were making memories with a loved one and we were preparing for death.

Nine months ago, my friend, the father of my children and at one time in life, my husband called me to tell me there were some concerns about an illness he just couldn’t seem to shake. There would be tests to evaluate these concerns further, but doctors were sure it was one of three things and they were all serious. I can’t remember if it was a few days or a few weeks, but the news came back- it was the most serious of all the possibilities: colon cancer. Less than one month later, we would be told that it was stage 4 and it was aggressive. (But truthfully, we didn’t need a doctor to tell us either of those things.)

Two months after finding out, we made the decision to tell the kids… I wish I had told him then, “thank you for trusting me with this”, but I didn’t. I just dutifully made sure all of the kids were gathered at his home at the appointed time. I will never forget that day…

By the time, graduations would roll around, two months later, you could see the horrible effects of cancer already taking its toll on him, but he soldiered on. He made a point to attend graduation ceremonies, watch another child in a horse show, and take two more children home with him for a weekend.

As a member of several online genealogy groups, I have often read or heard stories of people who have been unable to write the death date on someone’s profile on their respective trees. Of course I sympathized, however, I didn’t quite understand. To me it was just a date, just more information to add to a tree, more clues to a puzzle, if you will.

But then November fourth happened…

Folded-American-Flag

I didn’t immediately reach for my genealogy materials or look at my tree and I surely couldn’t write an end date. Eventually, I would try- and still be unable to complete this task… (I was finally able to do it last night, but it was hard and I went back several times and erased that info, because even though we’ve buried him, my brain screams that this isn’t the end.

Life and death happen. I think we, as family historians and genealogists and lovers of history, know and understand this, especially from the perspective of our collective jobs or hobbies, but it is a completely different road to travel when it is close to us; when it is personal.

I didn’t really have an outlet and I needed a release and so I wrote…

When Death Comes Knocking

When death comes knocking,

It is a slow progression

that makes you think and want to believe

that it isn’t real and it isn’t happening… right now

When death comes knocking,

It’s seeing a hospice letter posted on the fridge,

hung by magnets that should be hanging pictures made by exhuberant babies

and post cards from far away places

When death comes knocking,

It is wearing a winter hat on a warm breezy May day, because

you are always cold

and you’ve forgotten what it means to be warm

When death comes knocking,

It’s not being able to eat-

not even knowing what the desire to chew, swallow and repeat even is anymore.

When death comes knocking,

It is a ‘fuck cancer’ shirt on chemo day,

echoed by a rallying cry from friends and family to kick cancer’s ass

When death comes knocking,

it is a phone call at 2:30 in the morning,

a sucker punch to the gut- taking all the breath from your body

and a howl of grief mixd with an unproportionate amount of hurt

When death comes knocking,

it is your son crying big fat ugly tears,

as he sees you for the last time

and begins to understand what everyone meant when they said,

“he won’t look the same”

When death comes knocking,

it’s children standing before a crowd, reading letters of love

and grandmothers breakingdown

the baby looking at you; trying to get to you and wake you up

When death comes knocking,

it is emotions you don’t quite know what to do with

and attitudes you aren’t sure how to relinquish

Whewn death comes knocking,

it is not a peaceful walk into the sunset;

it is good Christian girls questioning, WHY GOD???

When death comes knocking,

it is a resounding FUCK YOU CANCER!

 

Thank you for reading. Thank you for allowing me to use this blog as an outlet fro releasing and dealing with my grief. I appreciate these things greatly. Often times, grief is lessened and made easier to cope with, when others share stories or advice… Other than things like, ‘life goes on’, ‘just take it one day at a time’ or some other equally offensive and useless words to my logical thinking self, what have you all done to get over/past/through personal grief?

Thank you Bell Atlantic!!!

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

It all started when the telephone rang… and I took Bell Atlantic’s advice and let my fingers do the walking.

I don’t know who was on the other end of the line, but I’d like to shake their hand, for sure!

There I was sitting between Nana and Granddaddy during what was supposed to be a ‘quick’ in and out visit. Yes. I really made the 60+ mile journey with every intention of saying hi, give a hug and head back home. Stop being judgemental. I wasn’t making good on the leaving front, though. Nana wanted to know about EVERYONE… so, I had to give her the details of each of the children. I was nearly finished dispensing with all the required information, when, as I said previously, the phone rang.

I’m not sure how things work in the homes of your grandparents, but in Nana’s house- you don’t dare leave whilst she’s on the phone. So there I was sitting on the couch, twiddling my thumbs.

I think I might have reached for a magazine (always handy) on the coffee table in front of me. That’s when I saw it.

You know I had to pick it up. The first thing I noticed was that Nana had written her name in it, but that’s not unusual, as she does it with all her books. Then I began flipping, nonchalantly, through the book.

I was just about ready to close the book and put it back on the table, when I noticed this:

 The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I knew those names. I have been researching them for two and a half years. I looked to my Nana for explanation, but she was still on the phone, grabbing away. My Granddaddy was no help, either, so engrossed in the football game was he.

I flipped through again and found a section of pictures. I won’t share them here, but just know, their stories are coming.

When Nana finally got off the phone, we had a FABULOUS discussion about our family history and the people in the book. And look and behold, Granddaddy even chimed in! He told me out of his own mouth that Rev. Tyler, who’ve I’ve long believed was an important Pastor in an area church (during the years of inception) was indeed the person I believed him to be. Nana also agreed with this. Though, it’s odd that two years ago, when I was going down this rabbit hole, Nana vehemently disagreed with my findings and Granddaddy was silent on the matter- only chiming in to tell me to look into his brother’s death, because they always believed something happened other than what they were told in regards to his WWII death.

I also learned that a particular set of relatives were steered clear of because they were crazy… I’m sure if you asked those relatives about Nana, they’d say she was uppity- so, you know take it with a grain of salt.

Oh and Nana let this book come home with me- a most shocking thing. Though she admonished me to return it in the same manner she gave it to me, no less than 10 times. I have a mind to copy all 100 pages. Is that wrong or illegal?

Well, it has been two days and I have finished the first read through of the book. I’m sure there will be at least three or four more reads, each time learning and grasping more of the stories to be told.

Until then, let me leave you with a few things I have already learned…

*The area where my family lives in Stafford, VA, is called Brooke (unofficial, but recognized by everyone who is a resident). But why is it called Brooke? Well apparently, there was a man by the name of Brooke, who owned obscenely amounts of land in Stafford and Fredericksburg. As was the custom of the day, Brooke was permitted to name his lands. Surprise, surprise, he named them after hisself.

The author, a cousin of mine, not only verified this information through traditional documentation in 1980, but also through the first hand account of her grandfather, who was a SLAVE on the premises when it all went down.

This book also talks about the one and only Pocahontas AND John Smith. Guess what? That encounter took place in Stafford, County and not near James Town as I  and others had grown up believing.

I am so in awe of this find and I can’t wait til I can flesh out the stories to share them with you all. Have you ever come across a unique find or discovery that opened a door into the daily lives of those before you? What did you find? What did you learn from it? I definitely want to hear all about it! Leave me a comment and tell me everything! Of course, I’d love it if you could hit the like/share/follow buttons too?

The Revolution Won’t Be Televised

Posted on by dvn ms kmz time travel

A big part of my life has been spent as an advocate. Whether advocating for more funding for schools, equality in schools, with local government on behalf of the minority, or any number of other ‘hot topics’- I have been there. Front and Center, tirelessly working to make where I live and what affects me better.

Kim is an activist

Here I am sitting with other community activists and advocates, during a press conference   (circa 2013). From left to right, I am the 6th person.

 

As I have worked on my tree, I have hoped that I would be fortunate to come across a revolutionary, like me. I dreamed of finding an ancestor that some how thwarted the efforts of the South during and after the Civil War. I longed to discover someone who participated in Freedom Marches, sit-ins and if I were extremely lucky- a Black Panther. Alas, the revolution will not be televised and the revolutionaries living within my many branches have not come forward with any of these harrowing stories- YET.

Even without any direct ancestors coming forward, I felt compelled to tell this story. Especially in light of recent events very near to the place I call home…

When D.T. came to the White House, I did not join the throngs of people who protested his presence- even though I wholeheartedly disagree with a great majority of things he says and does. When the Black Lives Matter marches came to my front door, I stayed home; regardless if how much of the outcries resounded within my soul. And when the debates started over statues became angry debates and cause for rallying cries- I stayed home and what’s more is that I kept my mouth shut and my opinions- of which there are many- to myself.

***Let me interject here to make it perfectly clear that this is not an invitation to debate anything and this post certainly is not designed to be a political pot stirrer- OF ANY KIND. You are entitled to your opinion and I, mine. The point isn’t what you or I support.***

Then came “the petition”. In my hometown, there sits a stone block on the corner of a well traversed street. People, some in my own immediate family, are trying to have this stone block removed. I still am not sure where I stand on the removal of this particular block. I have talked with people on both sides and living where I do now, I can see how each side’s argument, if you will, has the potential to be beneficial or detrimental. Being the social media savvy girl that I am, I posed the following inquiry to the social media world…

When we drive by that stone, I tell my kids what happened there. I want them to know real history and I think this block makes it real. I haven’t taken a stance on any of the monuments, publicly- and I won’t… But, I think this petition is misguided and not in the best interest of people of color… What do you think?

For the most part, interesting conversation ensued, even with people not agreeing with each other. We didn’t have to agree with each other to have great dialogue. It was a pretty terrific experience- especially given the temperament of people today and even more especially as current events unfold all around us.

But then, it wasn’t. I received the following response…

Literally standing with some of the least educated and morally disgusting people I’ve ever known in my life. Just think about that. Out of a thousand “friends” you stand with the legit worse.

This lovely statement was parlayed from an IMMEDIATE family member. I was shocked and unprepared. As an activist and advocate, I have been on the front lines of countless ‘battle grounds’ and this person, who has never involved or availed their self to anything not solely focused on themselves was attacking me so vehemently over a QUESTION? The nerve. The audacity.

But then it hit me. The revolution won’t be televised. There very well could be a slew of revolutionary branches in my tree, but over the years, those that maintain the gardens, have done their darndest to prune the tree of these unsightly and maybe even rogue branches. It is possible that these ancestors were attacked and felt it best to keep their part in the revolution hidden; not telling a soul of their involvement or perhaps the looks and conversations of disdain and disapproval were so weighty (especially from immediate family members) that the revolutionary was silenced before he or she even knew they had a voice.

Whatever the case, I am more encouraged in my hunt to find the disruptors. I picture them sitting on their respective branches in a Tom Sawyer kind of relaxed way, just waiting on me to come along and tell the world their stories.

The revolution won’t be televised… At least not until I uncover their identities!

Have you ever hoped to find something in your tree? Have you found things you wish you hadn’t? I’d love to hear about your experiences! Please leave me a comment and tell me your woes! If this resounded with you in any way, I would love for you to hit the like and share buttons!

  • Many thanks to Gil Scott- Heron for the creation of “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”, which gave me the title of this little diddy… You can hear it here, if you’d like.
  • Additionally, as this post was not meant to stir the pot on any side of any argument, I did not include a picture of the ‘stone’. You can see the stone block here, if you wish.