Friday, March 20, 2009
In a country cemetary on Erie Rd. down the street from where we grew up, our ancestors lie in sun-dappled shade. The headstones are clearly visible, graves are cleaned and well-kept. Familiar family names cut in stone herald our Polish heritage. As we wander through this peaceful little place, we wonder at their hardships, or their heartaches, their stories untold. The inscriptions and dates speak of a long lineage of a hearty people. Our people. No matter their stories, their blood flows through our veins. Our hearts quicken with the knowledge that although names change, time and distance separate us, we are still connected, and stronger because of it.