Reflection on Keepers and family Legacies

Keepers and Family Legacies

Before introducing you to Janie, a second Keeper, I thought it might be interesting for us to consider how Florence’s notions of family fit with our own. She never moved far away from home Left by her husband she never divorced. She placed herself and her children in a coherent story of family and community history. In telling and retelling family stories, she reminds herself and everyone who listens of the past that she treasures. When someone she loves falls away from the family, or from what she sees as a good life, she weaves these periods of distress into an ever widening family story. Her capacity to hold onto good and bad stories arises from her belief that life is naturally made up of the good and the bad and her stories combine difficult experiences with hope for a better future.
Florence’s story is remarkably different from my own and may be different from yours. I wondered how I could build on her stories of the past. I started out by reflecting on my ideas about family, and I encourage you to do the same as you think about Florence’s stories and read Janie’s stories which are up ahead.
Part of writing a new survival story means revisiting ideas of family. Have we chosen to live far away or nearby our family members? Have we resolved family conflicts so that our relationships remain open and loving or do we distance ourselves? Do we have the option to call upon family members when we need them? Which past stories of family can we call upon in strengthening connections to our family history? If we do not find useful family stories, what stories from other cultural histories give us stories for survival?
Florence also relied on the wisdom of her grandmother to guide her, but what if our grandmothers were not good guides? Not long ago I was hiking and thinking about whom, other than my grandmothers, I could call upon as a guide. A picture flashed into my mind of a six-foot tall Nigerian nurse in a brown uniform with large strong arms. She had saved my life and the life of my second child, Sarah, when I was living in Lagos. My mother had warned me about the dangers of giving birth there, but with the ignorance of my youth, I scorned her advice. I made few plans for the delivery and went into the hospital without concern. My labor was induced by a well-known Nigerian doctor, who then left me at the hospital. When we were told that my husband wasn’t allowed to stay with me, neither of us protested. It was a busy time at the hospital, and there were not enough rooms for the many births happening at once. Since my labor was developing slowly, I was left on a gurney in a hallway for many hours. As my labor became more difficult, I panicked and tried to get off the gurney and leave the hospital. When I realized I couldn’t walk, I began yelling very unladylike epithets to get the attention of someone. No one came, and I yelled louder. Finally I heard someone coming down the hallway. Before I saw her, I heard her booming voice ask, “What is going on here?” When she reached my gurney, I tried to explain my situation, but I was too frantic and incoherent to make much sense. She said, “Calm down, woman, and let’s get this baby born.” She wheeled me into a room, told me to breathe and to push, and Sarah was born in minutes. I was told later that we were both in physical danger and that if she had not arrived when she did, we might have died. I can still hear the tones of her Yoruba-accented English as she told me that we were going to get this baby born. I quieted down immediately, and I followed her directions exactly, confident that finally, Sarah and I would be OK. I know that I can call upon her in my mind and feel her calming presence.
I believe that each of us knows someone in our family or in our history upon whom we might call when we are afraid. I now ask beleaguered clients to choose a guide to travel with them. Each of us can find a guide to imagine when we need someone by our side.
With these thoughts in mind we are more ready to write new survival stories.