Today I added about 40 people to my family tree.
There's a man, a stranger, who lives in New York, who I
am waiting with much anticipation to be called by. I might have lived
next to him when I lived
in New York. I might have smiled at him on the street or taken his
picture. I would never know him. He is my father's age and has a son my
brother's age and a daughter my sister's age. How would we meet? What
would be say to each other? And yet we are bonded. I tracked him down.
I was at a dead end, and his last name is uncommon, so
I just started e-mailing at random. And I found him. His grandfather was
brothers with my grandfather. His mother will be 90 soon and remembers
everything. I'm sure I'll drive then crazy with my questions. My
enthusiasm is simply bubbling over.
I lack the capacity to explain what this means to me.
I can't explain why my search is important. But the hunger gnaws at me.
I could all ready drive across the country staying only at the homes of
distant cousins I have met in my search.
But this connection is something even more. Perhaps a
hint at the village the family came from. Hopefully a clue to how many
other siblings my great-grandfather had. And above all, maybe, just
maybe, a lead on my relatives who were lost to the holocaust. Something
in me desperately wants their names, so that they can be remembered
properly...
I've finally potted my strange Begonia, but I don't
know if it is going to make it...
I had a long dream last night, but couldn't remember
even a fleeting snip of it this morning. After seeing Waking Life,
one really wants to remember one's dreams...
