I knew when I started this Heritage Journal project that my paternal side would present my biggest challenges because this side of my lineage didn’t even truly exist in my periphery until 2019.

There were no stories told to me as a small child about them.

No vacations filled with cousins or grandparents. No sights, smells, tastes, or memories to guide my way in the creation of each journal spread.

And truly, that’s a big part of why I began my Heritage Journal in the first place…

As a remembrance of my maternal side and as a re-membering and integration of my paternal side.

Biology brought to life through the stories, emotions, and facts gathered on each of my direct ancestors in a creative way, allowing for change and evolution as I make my way back and forth across the decades.

Until I took my DNA test, I knew there was a possibility that my Dad (my Birth Certificate Father and standing stone in my life) was not my biological father and the name Michael existed as a mystery name in a letter written by my Grandma Eve when I was a baby that was left to me when she died.

Since my DNA test I have communicated with three half-siblings, an amazing half-Aunt, and countless 1st cousins and 1st cousins once removed who have graciously gifted me photos, letters, and stories about Michael that are helping to pull him out of the fog and into focus, bit by bit.

He experienced intense trauma at 11 years old when his mom left the family.

He then attended a residential school with his brothers, got into a clutch of trouble as a teen, and headed West.

It seems his family tried their best to support him in his youth and wrap him in their love but I intuit that he was a blue, hot, burning flame that simply could not be contained, by himself or anyone else, no matter the intention.

He joined the Military and served in Vietnam which certainly laid an as-of-yet-unknown burden on his already heavy heart.

It seems he carried a hurt and an anger inside him that must have terrified him and those around him.

He made four babies with four different women over the course of 16 years but didn’t stay around or live long enough to know any of us.

And he died what must have been a horribly painful death from Hepatitis just a few weeks after his 40th birthday.

Among countless lost moments and memories in between.

And because we are complex humans in which multiple truths can exist at the same time, I also know…

He loved dogs and horses and the wide open spaces in New Mexico…

He had an interest in herbalism and passion for natural healing…

He placed an importance on education…

He took the time to jot down his thoughts, inspirations, sketches, and dates of importance in his journal…

He played football and the clarinet in school…

He was a volunteer fire fighter…

He was loved deeply by his cousins and siblings…

He loved my mom.

Click on the individual photos in the carousel above to see them on their own.

I don’t doubt that there is more to learn or that there are aspects of his being that I’ll simply never know. I am at peace with that.

His flame is carried forward within those he left behind…

By those he knew and who knew him…

And by those of us who didn’t have the chance.

Onward,

Melis