Thoughts

Finding My Roots

Hill of Three

A story told is a life lived; here is more of my story.

I don’t dwell on the “What-ifs.”  The What-Ifs serve no purpose because they never happened.  I focus my energy on the “What-Was” because the What-Was is why you are at the place in your life that you are today.

Seventy-five years ago, two young people met.  I don’t know how they found each other since both have now passed. I just know that sometime in the early fall of 1949, a life was created from their union, and the following year, I was born.

I’m a hopeless romantic, and I want to think that there was an intense love between them, and circumstances prevented their love from growing into a full-blown relationship.  On the other hand, I could just be a product of this great universe, and if that is the case, I’m still thankful that whatever reason I’m here, it has been for a reason.  

My birthday gift to Ancestry sparked an interest in knowing more about my roots.  It was easy on my mother’s side to walk my family tree backward several generations, but on my dad’s side, I was never sure how to start filling in the branches.  It didn’t feel right trying to fill in the names of people who may not be related to me.

I decided to send off my DNA sample and let the results guide me on the direction to take.  And it did. I have found a family that I am related to and discovered the man who gave me life.  This has helped me fill in a lot of blanks about ME because there have been so many times that I did feel like the stork mistakenly left me on the wrong doorstep.

That doesn’t mean I don’t value my childhood.  I would not change my growing up because it was meant to be, so I don’t dwell on the What-If.  What is important is that I finally found the man who gave me life, and without him, I would not be here today.

I know I would have loved him, and I know he would have loved me because my character, my love of life, my love of family, my tender heart, and my determination and perseverance in all things came from his contribution.  

When you’re tracing your family tree, it has been proven that paper trails do not validate who you are related to.   

Ironically, I was always told I was called Billie Jo because I was named after my father and my mother.  I thought it was from the father’s name on my birth certificate, and his first name was William.  I see now that there was truth in that statement, as my dad’s name is William Louis Brachey.

Billie Jo
Billie Jo

                                                      

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