Bloodlines & Backbone
Updated: Sep 28, 2025
As I was sorting through pictures this morning for another project, I was surprised that my normal sadness wasn't weighing on me. As I poured through the stacks of memories, I was overwhelmed with a tremendous feeling of strength - they got me here.
They are the unseen scaffolding that held me upright when I didn't think I could stand.
My Grandma I will forever see her at her kitchen table, swaying her feet back and forth, holding her cup with hands that had already done a full day's work by 9am.
She was the one who made sure everyone had what they needed - even if she didn't. She built her life out of sacrifice wrapped up in complete, unwavering, unconditional love.
She was my warmth. She was my soft space.
She taught me what quiet resilience looks like - she lived it. In every early morning, every plate served, every moment she kept going even when no one was clapping.
My Paw-Paw My childhood was full of memories of following him around while he tinkered on lawnmowers and whatever unique contraption that had his fancy at the time. He was the fixer. The one who could fix broken things.
He was the consummate teacher. He didn't need a classroom - he was a walking classroom. Ever appreciative of nature - the birds, the trees, the bugs, the garden, the animals. He never missed an opportunity to share knowledge. There was usually a lesson tucked inside every story he told.
And, man, was he funny. His expression when he was able to catch you off guard with his effortless humor will forever be etched in my mind.
He was wit and wisdom rolled into calloused hands that worked from sun up to sun down.
If grandma was the soul of the house, he was its steady rhythm.
My Dad A favorite memory from my early childhood was going to the creek with him to find flat rocks. My brother and I would get to play in the water and have a scavenger hunt all at the same time. The best part was finding the perfect rock and watching my dad spray paint the most beautiful sunset on it.
Whether a rock or a car, he took something ordinary and made it extraordinary. He was an artist.
Life got complicated for us. The life of struggle he lived was something my young mind couldn't really understand back then. The communication stopped for a long time. It was protection that I needed. But I missed him. We missed out on so much.
His struggle is something that I now hold with great reverence and compassion. What he carried with him was far more than one soul should ever have to carry in one lifetime. He survived and in some ways I think he transmuted his pain into fuel. That man lived life on his own terms. He was a force.
When standing at his funeral, I told all our family and his friends that I am my father's daughter. It meant something then, but it feels like so much more now.
So much of who they are lives in who I am and even more so in who I'm becoming.
There is a quiet power in our lineage that we sometimes take for granted or feel like we lost when they left. But it's there, weaved into the structure of our backbones and flowing in our blood.
He did make things beautiful. I remember he painted one of my Dad's vans. Those boys didn't have it easy coming up but they were creative.