Lost and Found in Family History

Today was a good day in my Family History adventures.

I love Family History.

I have always been drawn to it, I've always wanted to hear the stories and see the faces of those who reside on different branches of the family tree, but I never really knew where to begin or what it meant to 'work on' Family History.

I've taken the Family History Sunday School class at least 4 times and still- I wasn't sure what to actually DO.

My mother in law changed that for me.

She patiently sat with me and logged on to familysearch.org and asked me to give her the name of the ancestor that was as far back as I could remember.

I quickly told her that all of those ancestors had already been 'taken care of,' and much further down the line so that couldn't possibly be a good use of time. I could only remember back as far as my grandparents on one side and great grandparents on the other. 

Worthless information.

She smiled and asked their names and typed them in. 

Up popped a family tree that went back a very long way.

"See, I told you, it's all been done!"

She smiled again, nodded and said "Tell me what you know about your grandma's mom."

Well......

I knew nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

Family Search gave me a name, dates and where she was born, married and died. 

It gave me the names of her children. 

It gave me the name of her husband and I told Mom Olson "Ah, that was her husband, he was a bad guy. He left her and her kids because she joined the church- that's what I was told."

She would ask me the next logical question as I opened up the file with Bad Great Grandpa's name in it. Where did he live? What work did he do? Did he ever move? Why did he move? When did he leave the place of his birth? Did his parents die in the place he was born?

Did he have brothers and sisters? Did he remarry? Did he have more children with another wife?

As I looked to answer some of the basic questions, I saw that Bad Grandpa had actually married my Great Grandmother in the Salt Lake Temple- before they had any kids. He later married a second wife, after his divorce, in the temple as well. 

This was not a man who left his wife because she joined the church.

he was, in fact, born in the covenant and was third,generation Latter day Saint. His father had come to Utah after having been a life long member of the church. That meant his family (my family) were some of the very first people to join the church in England. 

He was an active member all of his life and his second wife was a direct ancestor of one of my dearest friends from high school, Julie Arave-Olsen.

   

(Mother Arave/Blackburn really loved that hairstyle.)

Julie had always- ALWAYS felt oddly familiar, like a cousin to me, I never payed much attention to it, but I noticed that I felt a different connection with her than I did any friend I'd ever had. I could not explain it, but Julie had always felt like ...kin.

That was it-- the old Spirit of Elijah had me.

I didn't learn all of these things that day Mom Olson and I sat at her computer, but I did learn what to do next- to lay out the 'tree' and look at each of the branches. To see if people had spouses, children, siblings and parents- to try and give each person on my tree- a complete tree of their own. Those branches don't ever end or stop sprouting outward on each level.  Children have children who have children who have cousins who have cousins who have spouses who have siblings and cousins....yu can go as far down those side branches as you have the time for. 

When you make a complete 'tree' so to speak for a person- you have the outline of a story.

You gather all of the details about that person that you can inorder to tell a more vivid story.

As you learn the stories and find the history- those people become so very real to you.

They become your family and you see where you fit in and where they fit- in that enormous family tree you are a part of.

I found that, in both my mother's and my father's family there were a lot of divorces and remarriages. In my mother's family, the exes seemed to vanish from the history. Marriages ended and all proof of an ex- typically the father- was scrubbed clean fro the records. Stories that were passed down were typically fatherless stories and names were changed in order to create even more distance between the woman who was angry, but who passed on the history and the man who did her wrong. The fathers were cut out of the lives of the children and over time, forgotten or given a short but nasty label and it was clear that all he ever did was cause hurt.

Maybe that was true, maybe the women just held onto anger like a treasure, as the living family members do now. If they forgive the bad men from the generation before, it might mean those who hurt the living generation are worthy of forgiveness and they have to find a way to forgive that still honors necessary boundaries. 

I don't know- I have my own issues and crap to work out there. 

I just know that my mother's side is awfully absent of fathers- and the fathers did not die. 

My father's side is an almost mirror image when it comes to family history. Yes, they all had multiple divorces, but as I look at the records, I see the numbers of children grow, as the men adopted or cared for the children of their later wives, as well as the children that had with their first wives. I see step children added with as much love and acceptance as biological children, I see them given a place in line right along side the bloodline. I see the fathers who had families that were huge because they were stepfathers who treated all of the kids as his own. I see an effort made to keep track of the mothers who left, and records of mothers who didn't leave, but remarried- and how their families grew as well. 

But they have a lot more divorces, and it's interesting that there are family names that get passed down, but rarely from father to son. Usually you find a nephew named for an uncle. That gets pretty confusing sometimes because some of the ages aren't that far apart with the uncles and nephews, and some of the records were incorrectly  merged to make them the same person.

I see these giant broken and blended families and I have to just smile and shake my head. These are certainly my people. 

Which path do I choose? 

What will my history tell? 

I'm still figuring that out, and while I do I try to make sure that the stories that are being passed on about my ancestors are true stories. I don't know the reasons and the circumstances for the bad things that happened, but I know that some of the stories are made up and I have proof of such. I don't need to contact family and correct anyone, I just need to make sure my records only tell the stories I know to be true based on the first person accounts and the facts I find. I need to make sure that if anyone comes to me for information, if I put it out there- that I can back up those facts and that I have proof that some of the tired old stories are made up. Not everyone wants to hear that, so I keep it to myself, willing to share if anyone wants to know. I have no doubt my own name has been hacked from a  few family tree branches as well, and that's just how things always have been dealt with, I don't expect more from those who never realized it was the wrong way to handle family issues and estrangements. 

I will write the names, all of the names- of even the jackasses. I will add the stories that have facts to go with them and try to make sure my own feelings aren't clouding the facts.

So why was today a good Family History day for me?

I got a book I have been wanting for years. 

I came across it shorty after I started doing Family History, but it was not in print and the only three copies I could find were 1. At the Family History Library in Salt Lake, 2. at the New York Public Library (for reference only, not to check out) and 3. for sale from a private seller for $350.00.

I always meant to go to Salt Lake and look through the book, but I also figured I had plenty of time to do that until one day we found ourselves in New Jersey, far away from everything Utah.

I planned to go look up the book in NYC, but I knew that was going to be a huge pain in the rear and that library intimidates the heck out of me. I have also been putting it off.

When we went to Utah in November. we stayed right next door to the family history library and I had one goal-- to see that book.

I went with Mom Olson and we looked it up and found that it was online!

It had been digitized years ago (why hadn't I seen that?) and I could access it online..

I spent my time at the Family History Library doing other research and as soon as I got home, I logged on to read that book.

But, it was not to be.

The book was available digitally, but you had to be at an LDS family History Library to access it, as it was still under copyright. 

I was so annoyed. 

I was so annoyed that I decided I was actually going to get ff my butt and got to NYC and get ahold of that darn book.

Thankfully, Matt's cousin Kalynn told me I should be able to access it at out Stake Family History Center. 

I was at the Stake Center today, doing Primary stuff and I remembered that i wanted to check.

I logged on and...there it was....my stinkin' book!

I finished up the Primary work I was doing and sat down in the Family History Center to devour the book. While I was there, someone joined me and asked what I was doing. She suggested I just print the book and replace the paper I was going to use, it wasn't that big of a book and I could get a lot more done at home that if I had to view it at the church building every time. 

She didn't have to suggest it twice and now-- moved to the top of my winter reading, I now have a complete copy of the Stribling book I have been trying to read for about 4 years.

I'm nerd-level excited about this and even if it doesn't give me any new information- it's information I have access to- accurate information about my kin. 

I believe though, that there will be new information and that some undiscovered limbs and branches- or at least leaves are going to be found on the family tree. I feel that is true. 

It's been a good year for me in my Family History Quest. I found the parents of the baby I had felt connected to- the right parents. I found I was related to my friend, I learned so much history about my ancestors that came here from England, including the fact that on one of my ancestors return trips from his church mission in England, he arrived with the first ancestor to be a member of the church of our current Stake President. 

I no longer feel like I'm just another link in a chain of unhappy people, I can see that I'm part of a family that did great things- they had incredible lives and they lived and loved and hurt and hurt others in return- just as we all do, but I can keep the good things that have always been in my family and I can help let go of the bad things that the generations before just couldn't shake, that they never wanted to keep being passed on. 

( Charles France and Evie Frances- from my father's side)

Thanks Aunt Sheila for pointing out that I had my Evie's mixed up :)

It heals me. I cannot explain exactly how, but Family History heals me.

Maybe it's because the dead can't hurt me. Dead family cannot tell you that you're stupid or that they are cutting you out of the family or that you're a not a 'real' family member. The dead don't squabble over imaginary birthrights and favorite children. 

We living don't seem to be able to move past some of those things sometimes.

When I do family history work, I feel as thought I am not only doing something important, but I feel as though what I am doing is wanted. The ancestors want to be remembered. They want to be a part of my story and my life. 

Doing Family History work does that for me. I know who I am and that I am loved by family that I will never meet on this Earth, but they know me and see me as one of their own.

(The Rouse Women- a family line through my father's side that I have only scratched the surface on)

(My Grandma Clarissa- who I was named after. She is still alive, but has dementia.)

                                                   
                                                  (That's my cute dad, on the far right)

If you want to start working on family history and don't know where to begin, I encourage you to keep trying. Reach out to others and start asking questions.

Do as Mom Olson had me do and think back to the oldest name you remember and ask what you remember about that person- ask who they loved and were close to, what was going on in the town they lived in- start to build their trees and tell their story.

Thank you, Mom O for teaching me how to work on Family History, for teaching me how to ask the questions that lead to amazing discoveries and a new knowledge of my own life and story. A story that begins so long ago that nobody remembers, but when I hear it, my soul does. 

Catching Up

I am so far behind on blogging.

This post will have a lot of pictures, and too many words, but I need to get caught up.

Last month, Matt and I went to Utah to see our Kate perform in her high school play, Les Miserables. She was the best Eponine ever. 

  

   We were able to take Grandma Harris out for dinner, and it was fun to see her, chatting with the girls and surrounded by our family, who hasn't seen her since we moved.  Matt really enjoyed getting to treat her and his dad out to dinner. 

We ate way too much and stayed out way too late but we sure had a great time. Sunnie and CJ were there and it was nice to sit with the kids and make my baby sister laugh.

I was able to get some family history done and talk with the experts at the Family History Library to help clear up some things that I have been trying to solve for years. It was exciting to present the evidence I had gathered regarding a family connection and have the workers join in my excitement as they said "You found her family- you found enough proof that THIS is her family, not the people that everyone has listed. Make the formal change in the records, you did it!"

S. S., I know where you belong, where you came from and you were so very loved. 

You were not the unwanted illegitimate child of a family that tried to forget you, it's just that your Papa and Mama had names that were too similar to another family in your tiny little town in Texas.

Family History is kind of super awesome. 

It's an interesting thing for me especially, because I have so many lines with broken branches and changes made because people got mad. 

I have people in my family that I cannot stand as well, but they existed and they had good things and bad things. Our relationship may have ended, but our being related never does. I am sure there are plenty who wish otherwise, but you do not have to have a relationship with your crazy kin. In cases where I am the crazy one, I am sincerely glad I'm not causing hurt to those people anymore.

 It doesn't change that our names belong together on lists and histories. 

I have ancestors and family who have tried with all of their might to hack people out and to pass on stories that absolutely could not be true when you look at the paper trails that people leave behind.

Every branch I look at, brings a similar issue, as I say to myself:  "that doesn't make sense, it isn't actually possible" and I get pulled into finding out what the facts were and documenting that, minus the anger and emotions of relationships that were just too hard for the living. 

I get it, but it makes for a puzzle, every step of the way. 

Maybe solving the puzzle doesn't even matter, but as someone who grew up in home where that same spirit carried on, I'd like to know it wasn't all bad. I like to see that people made big mistakes, but they also did good things too. There is life and happiness beyond the relationships that don't work, and it is okay to move on and go in your own direction. 

There is something inside of me that needs to show that people simply moved in a different direction, and that direction was not downward to Hell.

Anyway--So yeah, family history was a big part of my trip, our hotel was right next door to the Family History Library, which was very nice.

We enjoyed spending time with our Taylorsville friends.  There was good food, Utah food and a lot of laughter and hugs. Karin Holmgren came out to see me. I was so happy to see her, I love her so.

Matt caught up with his friends from Amex and we spent a good amount of time with family.

I have said it before, I love being an Auntie. 

Few sounds in life delight me more than the sound of my nieces and nephews, laughing.

There never is enough time, and I was running on NYC time, so I got wiped out pretty early in the evening every day and had to tap out too soon.  I can't go that long without seeing my little sister again, so we're going to try and get her out here in the spring.

 It's just too cold to enjoy NYC in the winter. It looks lovely in postcards, but it's too cold.

Since coming home, we enjoyed a quiet Thanksgiving at home. We decorated for the holidays and have been listening to a lot of Christmas music and eating a lot of Holiday treats. 

We had friends from the ward stop by last night to visit and celebrate Zane's birthday (today!!) and the kids had fun decorating sugar cookies and making cards for the missionaries. The adults talked and visited and raided my Diet Coke stash and a good time was had by all. I am so thankful for the friendships I have in this ward.

Even with 25 kids running around, it felt like a close family get together, because these people here are the family of our hearts. As much as I miss and long for my wonderful friends in Utah, my life would be lacking if we had not moved here and added to our family with our friends in the Short Hills Ward. 

So that's the theme of this too long blog post: family.

We traveled to spend time with our family, both the living and the dead. 

That sounds so creepy, but I'm trying to tie it all in, Yo.

We came home and were surrounded by our new family as well and it's all so, so good. 

Emma, Kate and Jane will be here in 2 weeks, and the Olson family will hunker down and absorb each other. The blog will probably suffer more, but my heart will be happy and bursting with the joy of my own family- one more time.

The Mormon Brady Bunch

Yesterday, someone said to me "You and Matt are always so in love. You've had to overcome so many challenges as a family and yet, you two look at each other like newlyweds. Your kids all seem to really love you. I can't even tell which kids are your's and which are Matt's- you're just.... a family. How did you do it?"

How did we do it?

When I'm asked that question, I usually answer with some version of "We're still on the roller coaster ride. I'm just waiting to see the cool special effects when we explode at the end."

I don't actually expect us to explode at the end. 

I don't think there is an 'end' and I think there are always explosions, they happen along the way and you keep on moving. Good days and bad- the good are amazing and the bad kick you hard in the soul.

One thing I know for sure is that Matt is in this with me. He's buckled in and holding on to the safety bar right beside me.

 There is a security I have in this relationship that I never had before. I've got some good security with some of my closest friends, but it's one thing to love and support someone as they go through trials, it's HUGE, but it's a different thing to be dealing with those same trials, to have to endure the consequences of weakness and help pay for mistakes with a person- to take on all of the gross stuff as your own, because it's your problem, too.

That's how 'in it' we both are. 

Like us or hate us- we choose to be tethered in together. 

I trust Matt. 

I trust him even when I kind of want to kick him in the leg and I know he wants to do the same to me. 

I trust him even when I know I'm right and he's wrong and he has the nerve to actually think HE is right.

 I trust him when we reach that part in an argument...I mean... heated debate where we both realize right and wrong are nice, but when it brings contention- all of it is wrong. 

I trust him when he drives in Manhattan, but I still step on the imaginary brake and clutch the 'we're all going to die' handle.

 I trust him when he places his hands on my head and calls upon the power of God to bring me comfort, to bring healing and to give me strength that I just don't think I have anymore.

 I trust him as I look across the room in the temple and he winks at me, every time.

When I met Matt, it rattled me.

 He was this funny guy I'd been talking to online and on the phone who was really easy to talk to. 

One January night, that funny guy walked in through my front door, our eyes met as I dashed into the other room for my coat. For the first time in as long as I could remember, someone saw me - the me that I don't show everyone, that I certainly didn't show anyone those days. He saw the person I was and wasn't distracted by all of the things I'd done wrong in my life or by the people I'd offended and disappointed. 

The last thing either of us needed at the time was a relationship, and a soul mate was totally off the table. We had plans and lives that were newly rebuilt after we'd both been treated like such garbage by our former spouses, people who never stopped to think of anyone but themselves.

 That's my short version, we had just been fed so much of their 'you suck' syrup in our marriages, that we stayed because we believed we deserved it, that we had done something to cause them to treat us in a way that decent people don't treat ANYONE. 

We both still highly defined ourselves by the flaws our ex spouses were still constantly pointing out and exploiting. 

There was no reason to look for or even really want a big, permanent relationship at the time.  We were young (at heart) and good (enough) looking and when people acted bad, we could delete their number from our phone and move on to better things.  

The timing for a relationship was lousy.

Neither of us was looking for that.

And yet- here was Matt.

He was this tall and handsome guy with the warmest smile. He had an amazing heart and I had never laughed with anyone, the way I did with Matt. He was smart and interested on so many things, he had opinions and listened to those opinions from others. He was a good man with just enough bad boy in him to keep me on my toes.

He quickly became everything to me.

I didn't have any hope that we would last, but I knew that he was going to be my last great love of my life. It was going to be the end of me, but I needed to be with him like I needed to breathe. 

So that's what I did, each day, I just breathed him in.

 In and out, reviving my heart and taking up so much space in my soul that I had to kick out some of the former residents there. 

 I had to evict the 18 year old girl, with a split lip and a broken down car, hiding from the boy she adored, but who decided to hit.

 I said goodbye to the girl who put a note and a ring in a mailbox in the dead of night, who didn't have the courage to say it was over to someone's face.

 I let go of the girl who hid in the bedroom closet, afraid of her mother's rage, vowing to never let anyone get close again. 

 I released the girl who said she was sorry to a young man, but she didn't love him; the girl who walked out of the room when he broke down, so numb that she felt like she was looking through the eyes of someone else as she closed the door behind her. 

I released the girl who sat by the side of a hospital bed, clothes still covered in soot, who begged God to just let her child be okay and if he did, she'd never make another mistake again.

I kicked out the girl who packed up her husband's things and told him to leave and never look back, knowing that was precisely what he would do.

 Goodbye to the girl who skipped her own graduation, goodbye to the girl who tried to change bad relationships by wishing on stars and the girl who could not, would not let anyone in. 

My love for Matt filled up all of those spaces, knowing that soon, Matt would be gone and those empty rooms would only have a ghost in them.

Matt was leaving and I was not going to ask him to stay. 

I'd whisper it, in the too late hours of the nights when we'd fall asleep watching TV at my house. "Stay" was always there, on the tip of my tongue like some kind of prayer I didn't actually dare say out loud or a wish I didn't have the pennies for.

 In every conversation, it was always one word away but I was not going to say it to him.

I think I knew that Matt needed to go to Chicago, but it was so hard to not see Chicago was some mistress that was taking him away from me. 

Spring came and he flew so far away, but he also flew so high and as he soared, he stretched out his hand to me and I exploded into the skies over Lake Michigan, rocketing to a freedom to be myself and to live my own life that I had never known before. 

We married in the summer and when autumn came, we made a together home, forever. 

We were both changed and we have made very different choices than we would have made if I had asked him to stay, if I'd have given him the ultimatum that seemed so logical to give at the time and to everyone else. 

 Chicago kind of forced us to invent a completely new type of relationship than we had ever seen or experienced and I think the changes, the fact that we were creating this family and this life from scratch helped a lot. Nothing we knew really applied, so we came up with something different, something that works for us.

When they ask me how we do it, I think my answer is that we let each other breathe, knowing & trusting that it's the same air. When he breathes in, I breathe out. I take air into my lungs, he releases it. We know that in order to grow as a couple, we have to be okay with growing as individuals. The ability, the choice to build a relationship from two whole people has made it so that when the whirlwind comes raging at us, we get through it and hopefully, we have something that our children know they can tie an anchor to, and no matter what they do, who they choose to become- Matt and I are solid. We are there for them just as we are there for each other and we respect and love them as individuals, just as we do one another. I think that is something we are doing right. 

That's my answer today, at least.

Down the road, I may say "Xanax and cake."