A few months ago, actually back in November I think, a friend of mine from home posted on my Facebook page asking if I wanted to do the Great Wall half marathon. I had heard of the race and had considered for a moment doing it, but up until I was asked publicly, I hadn't really given it any more thought. My friend, who lives in Japan, encouraged me, saying that if he could do it, so could I, so I talked someone else here in Dongguan into joining me and we both signed up. Needless to say, my friend in Japan had to back out because of military duties. Now my friend Jackie and I are running this thing in less than a month.
First off, I should admit that I don't consider myself a runner. I never really ran in high school or college, and it was only a mile or two at most when I did. At the end of my college years, when I thought I was young and agile, I ran the Cooper River Bridge run, a 10K in Charleston, SC, without training. I did it as a last minute fill in for someone I was supposed to be babysitting for so she could run, but she got sick so I took her place. I paid the price for that decision for days. My stomach had never been in such knots. I remember lying in a ball drinking Gatorade, of which I've never been a fan, and cursing that bridge.
After that, my running was sporadic. When I moved to Ireland, I often ran down the canal from my flat in Ranelagh to Portobello, or up and around St. Stephen's Green, then it was in Italy that I started being more diligent about running. I ran most mornings when I lived in Milan, that is, when it wasn't snowing. I participated in the Stramilano 10K alone that year, and I had a blast. A friend had asked if I wanted to run it, but then she moved home to the states before the race was to take place (I'm now recognizing a pattern of friends who ask me to run, then themsleves back out!!). I actually thought I'd only signed up for the 5K, but I remember finishing the race and looking at my bib, then being so proud of myself. I ran with a bunch of crazy Italians, alone, and finished feeling great. In America, we drink after races. In Italy, I kept that tradition alive and went to the nearest cart, grabbed two beers, and sat down in front of the Duomo observing others. No one else was drinking. I began chatting with a guy and I had him take a picture so I could better hold on to that memory. I love that picture...it's still on my phone; that guy and I became Facebook friends that day come to think of it.
After moving back to the states, I kept running small distances. I participated in the Cooper River Bridge run again, this time prepared, and enjoyed leisurely runs along the Battery when I could. I ran in my neighborhood in Hanahan a couple of times a week. It was never much, 4 miles at the most, when I was running just to run. It felt good though...it was something that allowed me to clear my head.
My chiropractor wasn't and isn't very happy with me, but I do enjoy running now and again. She's told me many times to quit. She's worried about my back and my knees, but I've been a bad patient and I've kept on. I try to be cognizant of my "issues" when I'm running though. I know my back can give me major problems (I have titanium rods down either side of my spine), but I am very conscious of how I place my feet to land, how I align my spine and hips.
I don't think I'm a runner and I don't plan to run marathons the rest of my life, but I'm living in China, and in less than a month there's this awesome race that takes place on the Great Wall, so I am doing it. I am terrified though.
Since November, I've been running more regularly and trying to keep up with a schedule for preparing for a half marathon. Actually, for the past several months, I've been ahead of my schedule. I only just recently had to start making gains...going a greater distance. Last Saturday, I ran my first 8 miles ever. I knew I had to do it, and apparently I was dreading it.
I woke up Saturday morning, and like most mornings, didn't open my eyes. I knew if I did I'd be awake, and I really wanted a little more sleep. A few hours later, by the time I did open my eyes, I felt sure that it must be at least 12 or 1. I knew I had slept the whole morning. I had been dreading getting up for the run, so that was ok with me. I looked at my phone to check the time; it was 8 am. Geez.
I got up and read a few blogs looking for what to eat before a long run. I settled on some oatmeal because what most of the blogs said was to not introduce anything new. I hate bananas, I didn't have a lot of other options here, so I made my oatmeal with some peanut butter and a few chocolate chips...hey, I was about to burn major calories...don't judge.
I ate breakfast and tried to drink several glasses of water. I needed to wait half an hour to run after eating, or so I'd read, so I went on the Great Wall Marathon website and re-read the info on the race...huge mistake. I got so nervous that I started to have an anxiety attack. I did a devotional and then tried to meditate to calm myself down. I couldn't clear my mind though. I was freaking out...honestly. Shaking almost...so scared. I knew I had to do this though; I had signed up. I'm not one to give up on myself, and if I set my mind to something, then I at least want to try.
Once I mustered up the courage, I got dressed, put some money and a granola bar in a ziplock bag, stuffed that bag between my breasts (when it comes to running, this is the only benefit of being slightly larger in the chest), and set out. I turned on my Sirius Radio and Map My Run, did a few last stretches, and went on my way.
I had decided I'd need to refuel to make the full 8 miles. I've never stopped, not even in the 10K races I've done. I always push through, but for this, I figured I needed to have a boost of energy. I have noticed that my energy has been depleted a lot during my 6 mile runs lately, so I didn't want that to happen to me for this 8 mile. I had mapped out in my head how I could run just under three miles, stop at a convenience store by my house, grab a Gatorade, and then keep moving. This I did. It's actually a benefit of running in a big city like Dongguan. I knew if I had some money with me, I could easily stop to grab a drink along the way. I'm pretty aware of my milage marks so I knew I'd pass several of these little stores even if I hadn't planned it out.
The first few miles were a little harder than they normally are. I think it was my nerves still. My feet just didn't want to pick up off the ground. It could also be the fact that last Saturday was very humid and highly polluted. Training for a marathon, or even a half for that matter, in China, is probably a little more difficult than training in other cleaner air cities. Despite these difficulties though, I made it to the convenience store and got a Gatorade. I drank a few sips and then carried the bottle with me so I could drink a little more at my next stop, if I needed. I also couldn't stand the thought of wasting a whole bottle for just a few sips...I think I'm my mother's daughter.
I ran only one more mile and had to stop. I was dying. I was dizzy. I tried walking a little ways (timer off and not adding this to my mileage), but I was feeling quite strange...I'll still blame that on nerves. I drank more Gatorade and then after a little rest (I even let myself sit down a few minutes), I got back up. You see, I'd been praying the whole time...the whole first 4 miles, I prayed. I asked God to give me the energy...to protect my back, to strengthen my knees. I wanted to give up. I wanted to just call it all quits right there, but I couldn't do that, and I knew He'd carry me if I kept putting forth the effort.
I started back on my run, working now towards mile 5. I threw the Gatorade bottle away with a few sips left just because I was tired of carrying it. I honestly think I drank too much Gatorade because I began to feel sick. I worried about vomitting up that Gatorade all over the street. Somehow I managed to keep it down. I already get stared at enough when running...the last thing I needed was to draw more attention to myself by way of getting sick.
I made it to the end of the street where I needed to turn around and come back...this is completely out of expat land by the way. I was in China for sure. People sit on the street selling their fruits, doing their laundry, eating their noodles, and staring at me, a busty blonde girl, sweating profusely, trying to run 8 miles. It's quite a site.
At the intersection, I ran across the street and headed back towards home. I knew I'd need to detour towards my other route now to get the mileage I needed. I ran back, turned left to head towards the mountain and park with the Red Lantern (Qi Feng Park for those that know Dongguan), and made it to the corner where our little expat community again begins. This was almost mile 7. I had to stop. I turned off the mileage, walked to a store to grab a water, breathed, stretched, walked back to the corner, and set off on my last mile and a half or so. The "finish line" was nearly in sight now. The seven mile announcement came through my speakers and I almost threw my hands up in celebratory expression. I was so tired. I was so shaky, but I was almost there. I was moving slowly, but I was going to make it.
I ran that last mile and I can't tell you how extremely proud I was of myself. It was like the air was purer all of a sudden, like the temperature had cooled. Actually, I was quite cold and had had lots of chills during that run because I was soaked with sweat, even in my quick dry clothes. It was magical though. When I finished, I felt like I could have gone even further. I had been praying all 8 miles. It had taken me longer than I wanted, but honestly, I couldn't care less about the time. I FINISHED. I RAN 8 MILES.
When I got home, I showered and rested a few minutes after hydrating with another Gatorade and more water. I went for a massage and the girl killed my legs, but boy they needed it. My calves were on fire when her fingers were digging in them, but they felt really great after. I ate a 6 ounce filet for dinner that night and I felt as good as new on Sunday morning...like I could go for a run!
I was talking with my brother this week and he asked what was the elevation here in Dongguan. He was trying to calculate the added difficulty with the pollution and elevation combined. I wasn't sure honestly, so I Googled it and found that it's 10 meters, about 32 feet, above sea level. That's really not that bad. It made me curious about Beijing though and it said most of the city there lies 20-60 meters above sea level. That makes it a little more tricky. My brother said, "If you can run a 1/2 marathon through smog {and other elements}, you could probably run a 1 and 1/2 marathon in the states." Ha. He might be right.
I honestly think I might be crazy. I might die doing this thing in Beijing, but I'm so proud of myself. I let my nerves get the best of me last weekend, and I'm sure the morning of the race on May 16th I'll do the same, but if I can have the confidence that the Lord will be with me the whole time, then whether it takes me 3 hours or 3 days, I'll be happy to finish. Now, I'm prepping myself for 9 miles this weekend. Wish me luck!
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Blessings Come in Small Packages
It's been almost a week since I returned to China after flying home to Charleston for the birth of my first niece. I had tried for months to keep my trip home a secret; I had attempted to convince my sister's husband and doctor as well as my mother to encourage my sister to schedule her c-section on April 6th, the first Monday of my spring break. My sister sort of had her mind set on April 1st, but I prayed and prayed about it and low and behold, the Lord arranged things perfectly. My sister's doctor (who is also my own) had her own children's spring break the week of April 1st, so the surgery was scheduled on the 6th after all.
I did well to keep the secret of my return for several months, but on my sister's birthday in February, I couldn't hold it in any more (I'm terrible at keeping surprises a secret when it comes to me surprising someone else). I called the restaurant where I knew she was having dinner and just missed her...rats. I called her husband's phone and it was turned off, really?! I called her phone and told her the good news of my flight home and she cried. It wasn't the way I wanted to reveal the secret, but it was a good reaction.
I had a two week visit in the middle of February where my sister's friends and I threw her a baby shower. It was so nice to be able to do that for my sister and to be there with her, even if for only a short time, before the baby came.
I flew home again on April 4th, after a four hour delay in Guangzhou and the fear I'd not make it home for Easter Sunday at all. I arrived late on Saturday night and was able to get to church with my family on Sunday morning. That was the first of many blessings that week.
On Monday morning, I got up and went for a run around the old neighborhood (my sister now lives in the house I lived in for the ten years I spent in Charleston after college). My sister and her husband got themselves ready and went to the hospital for pre-op. My mother and I followed behind a short time later and met my sister's in-laws in the entrance to the hospital. We all got our stickers (the hospital is serious about their security) and we headed upstairs to the waiting room.
In true Hannah fashion, I remarked on the dullness of the waiting room at East Cooper and how poorly it had been designed architecturally. The room faced the bank of elevators and for hours we listened to the swoosh of the up and down movement. I'm the daughter of a contractor...sorry, it's in my blood to notice things like that.
My mother was beside herself with anticipation as were the parents of my sister's husband. I was eager, but I knew it'd take some time to hear from anyone. I had texted Brian, my brother-in-law, and he did send word finally that the baby was born, but not much else. I got one or two pictures, but we didn't know how Mommy or Baby were doing. Finally, I saw the doctor come out (remember she's my doctor too) and I asked how things were. She came over and told us all that the surgery had gone really well and that the baby was beautiful. Everyone was healthy and it'd just be a little while before T'Lene, my sister, would be out of recovery.
Brian finally sent a few more pictures for us and then he himself came out to tell us the details. Everyone was overjoyed, and after a few more hours, my mother, brother (who arrived just in time for delivery) and I went back to see my sister. After they heard my sister and the baby were ok, the in-laws had all gone to get lunch. My mom refused to leave! Mom, Edgar (my brother) and I chatted with T'Lene, and then shortly after, the baby was brought in.
Creighton T'Lene Brown was a beautiful little girl, 7 lbs 2 oz and 19.5 inches long, born Monday, April 6th at 12:57 pm. We were over the moon. We each took our turns holding #SweetbabyCreighton and after several hours at the hospital, I left to go to my sister's house to inform the big sisters, aka the dogs. I took one of Creighton's blankets from the hospital to let the dogs get a good sniff before she was brought home later that week.
For the next 3 days, I stayed at my sister's house with the labs and went to the hospital daily to visit with my sister and niece. I snuggled with her as much as possible, and when my sister's father-in-law jokingly asked if I wanted my "ten minutes" with her, I replied, "Huh, you think I'll only get ten minutes? I go back to China in a few days...you'll have to fight me to get her back!" Of course I was joking too, but I did want every second I could possibly get with her, tiny little bundle of joy that she was.
On Thursday, April 9th, my sister and her husband brought Creighton home. There were a few visitors (family members) that came by that first afternoon, but then T'Lene and Brian tried to settle into their new life as parents and being home with Baby. I was staying that night too as my flight would be Friday morning.
So sad to leave, but so grateful to have been home for such a special occasion, I packed my things and my mom drove me to the airport on Friday morning. She and I said our goodbyes, hugging, and I headed inside as she drove away. I went to the kiosk to check in and got the message "No itinerary found" twice. I walked up to the desk and had the flight attendant search for me and wouldn't you know it, my itinerary had been cancelled! The trouble I had in China on my flight over caused United airlines (with whom I may never fly again) to cancel the return portion of my flight.
I laughed hysterically, honestly, and told the woman at the desk that I was very upset that I had no flight when obviously I had booked a return, and explained that my boss would have a conniption fit if I weren't back to work on time, but that my sister had just had her first child and clearly being "stuck" in Charleston with the beautiful weather and my sister's sweet baby wasn't the worst fate I could receive. I said I'd never been so happy to have cancelled flights in my life!
She wasn't able to get me a flight out until Monday morning, which meant I'd get an extra weekend at home with family. I was ecstatic, but also quite worried about my boss's reaction. I went over to Mom's and made several phone calls to United and I finally found a flight out on Sunday, which meant I'd still get the weekend but I'd only miss one day of work. That was better for me, although I still felt guilty.
I went back over to my sister's house and on Saturday, I spent the majority of the morning, 4 hours to be exact, snuggling with Creighton on the couch while my sister rested and her husband went to his son's soccer game (he has two boys from a previous marriage). That time was priceless.
Sunday morning rolled around and I got up early to catch my flight back to China. Mom again drove me and I headed, reluctantly, into the airport. Upon arrival this time I got the same message from the kiosk, "No itinerary found," but the guy at the desk was able to locate my information in the system. I got in line for the security check, crying, and headed on through to the gate. I sat there before boarding, trying to calm myself down, but checking messages from my brother-in-law saying how much I was missed already, and then messaging my sister and letting her know I was balling my eyes out, didn't really help the situation. She said she too was very upset over my departure.
Finally I calmed down a little, but as soon as I got to the airport in Chicago for my connection, I started crying again. I saw Bill Murray depart the plane from Charleston (he was sitting two rows in front of me) and I honestly wanted to go share my sob story with him, but knew that would make me out to look like a crazy person, so instead, I went to the United desk.
The lady at the desk was so very empathetic, she even invited me behind the desk to look at options for my flight, but she was unfortunately not able to do anything. I really wanted an upgrade, and feel that I absolutely deserved one, but not a single person throughout the course of the trip was able to help me.
I got on the flight, finally, for Beijing and headed way back to my seat, 40 something A, astonished by the condition of the aircraft. First of all, it was a two story plane. I've never in my life experienced that. Second of all, there were no television screens in the backs of seats, there were only the "community" screens located along the ceiling of the plane. I boarded quickly and found a flight attendant to whom I poured my heart out. I summarized my dilemma and the fact that I was heading back to China with an extremely heavy heart and asked if he would help me move from my window seat, which I normally prefer, to an aisle seat because I was honestly so emotional I made myself sick. He was very helpful in finding me an aisle seat, albeit further back in the plane, so I moved to a place I felt I would have an easy escape route to the bathroom should I feel worse.
I took a muscle relaxer (I have those babies for my back and could count on one hand how many I've taken in the last two years, but was happy to have them on Sunday) and I passed out. The flight attendant who helped move me informed another attendant about my "condition" and they looked out for me. I woke for a meal and for hydrating, but otherwise, I slept that whole flight.
Arriving back in China wasn't as difficult as I thought it might be. I was exhausted, even after all that "rest" on the plane, so getting back to my apartment that Monday night was a huge success for me, and I was able to go right to bed.
I had to get up at 5 am the next morning and head right to work. The week went on as it normally would, but with little time for me to think. I checked in with family several times via iMessage and called my mom once, but didn't really get a chance to process anything.
Last night, going to bed was a little more difficult. I suppose it's because I finally had time to process the fact that I'm here in China, and that baby girl is at home in Charleston. My heart breaks in knowing that I won't see her in person again for several months. I've always enjoyed traveling, and I do enjoy living abroad, but events such as the birth of a child, the wedding of a friend, the death of loved one, cause many of us who live overseas, or just away from our family in general, to really consider our options. My heart is and always will be in Charleston. There are bits of it scattered in other places around the world, and perhaps one day I'll be able to say a little part of my heart is in China too, but for now though, the blessing that came in that tiny package that was delivered on April 6th is a memory for me, and driving force to help me get home soon.
Much love to #SweetbabyCreighton. Your Aunt Hannah loves you very much!!
I did well to keep the secret of my return for several months, but on my sister's birthday in February, I couldn't hold it in any more (I'm terrible at keeping surprises a secret when it comes to me surprising someone else). I called the restaurant where I knew she was having dinner and just missed her...rats. I called her husband's phone and it was turned off, really?! I called her phone and told her the good news of my flight home and she cried. It wasn't the way I wanted to reveal the secret, but it was a good reaction.
I had a two week visit in the middle of February where my sister's friends and I threw her a baby shower. It was so nice to be able to do that for my sister and to be there with her, even if for only a short time, before the baby came.
I flew home again on April 4th, after a four hour delay in Guangzhou and the fear I'd not make it home for Easter Sunday at all. I arrived late on Saturday night and was able to get to church with my family on Sunday morning. That was the first of many blessings that week.
On Monday morning, I got up and went for a run around the old neighborhood (my sister now lives in the house I lived in for the ten years I spent in Charleston after college). My sister and her husband got themselves ready and went to the hospital for pre-op. My mother and I followed behind a short time later and met my sister's in-laws in the entrance to the hospital. We all got our stickers (the hospital is serious about their security) and we headed upstairs to the waiting room.
In true Hannah fashion, I remarked on the dullness of the waiting room at East Cooper and how poorly it had been designed architecturally. The room faced the bank of elevators and for hours we listened to the swoosh of the up and down movement. I'm the daughter of a contractor...sorry, it's in my blood to notice things like that.
My mother was beside herself with anticipation as were the parents of my sister's husband. I was eager, but I knew it'd take some time to hear from anyone. I had texted Brian, my brother-in-law, and he did send word finally that the baby was born, but not much else. I got one or two pictures, but we didn't know how Mommy or Baby were doing. Finally, I saw the doctor come out (remember she's my doctor too) and I asked how things were. She came over and told us all that the surgery had gone really well and that the baby was beautiful. Everyone was healthy and it'd just be a little while before T'Lene, my sister, would be out of recovery.
Brian finally sent a few more pictures for us and then he himself came out to tell us the details. Everyone was overjoyed, and after a few more hours, my mother, brother (who arrived just in time for delivery) and I went back to see my sister. After they heard my sister and the baby were ok, the in-laws had all gone to get lunch. My mom refused to leave! Mom, Edgar (my brother) and I chatted with T'Lene, and then shortly after, the baby was brought in.
Creighton T'Lene Brown was a beautiful little girl, 7 lbs 2 oz and 19.5 inches long, born Monday, April 6th at 12:57 pm. We were over the moon. We each took our turns holding #SweetbabyCreighton and after several hours at the hospital, I left to go to my sister's house to inform the big sisters, aka the dogs. I took one of Creighton's blankets from the hospital to let the dogs get a good sniff before she was brought home later that week.
For the next 3 days, I stayed at my sister's house with the labs and went to the hospital daily to visit with my sister and niece. I snuggled with her as much as possible, and when my sister's father-in-law jokingly asked if I wanted my "ten minutes" with her, I replied, "Huh, you think I'll only get ten minutes? I go back to China in a few days...you'll have to fight me to get her back!" Of course I was joking too, but I did want every second I could possibly get with her, tiny little bundle of joy that she was.
On Thursday, April 9th, my sister and her husband brought Creighton home. There were a few visitors (family members) that came by that first afternoon, but then T'Lene and Brian tried to settle into their new life as parents and being home with Baby. I was staying that night too as my flight would be Friday morning.
So sad to leave, but so grateful to have been home for such a special occasion, I packed my things and my mom drove me to the airport on Friday morning. She and I said our goodbyes, hugging, and I headed inside as she drove away. I went to the kiosk to check in and got the message "No itinerary found" twice. I walked up to the desk and had the flight attendant search for me and wouldn't you know it, my itinerary had been cancelled! The trouble I had in China on my flight over caused United airlines (with whom I may never fly again) to cancel the return portion of my flight.
I laughed hysterically, honestly, and told the woman at the desk that I was very upset that I had no flight when obviously I had booked a return, and explained that my boss would have a conniption fit if I weren't back to work on time, but that my sister had just had her first child and clearly being "stuck" in Charleston with the beautiful weather and my sister's sweet baby wasn't the worst fate I could receive. I said I'd never been so happy to have cancelled flights in my life!
She wasn't able to get me a flight out until Monday morning, which meant I'd get an extra weekend at home with family. I was ecstatic, but also quite worried about my boss's reaction. I went over to Mom's and made several phone calls to United and I finally found a flight out on Sunday, which meant I'd still get the weekend but I'd only miss one day of work. That was better for me, although I still felt guilty.
I went back over to my sister's house and on Saturday, I spent the majority of the morning, 4 hours to be exact, snuggling with Creighton on the couch while my sister rested and her husband went to his son's soccer game (he has two boys from a previous marriage). That time was priceless.
Sunday morning rolled around and I got up early to catch my flight back to China. Mom again drove me and I headed, reluctantly, into the airport. Upon arrival this time I got the same message from the kiosk, "No itinerary found," but the guy at the desk was able to locate my information in the system. I got in line for the security check, crying, and headed on through to the gate. I sat there before boarding, trying to calm myself down, but checking messages from my brother-in-law saying how much I was missed already, and then messaging my sister and letting her know I was balling my eyes out, didn't really help the situation. She said she too was very upset over my departure.
Finally I calmed down a little, but as soon as I got to the airport in Chicago for my connection, I started crying again. I saw Bill Murray depart the plane from Charleston (he was sitting two rows in front of me) and I honestly wanted to go share my sob story with him, but knew that would make me out to look like a crazy person, so instead, I went to the United desk.
The lady at the desk was so very empathetic, she even invited me behind the desk to look at options for my flight, but she was unfortunately not able to do anything. I really wanted an upgrade, and feel that I absolutely deserved one, but not a single person throughout the course of the trip was able to help me.
I got on the flight, finally, for Beijing and headed way back to my seat, 40 something A, astonished by the condition of the aircraft. First of all, it was a two story plane. I've never in my life experienced that. Second of all, there were no television screens in the backs of seats, there were only the "community" screens located along the ceiling of the plane. I boarded quickly and found a flight attendant to whom I poured my heart out. I summarized my dilemma and the fact that I was heading back to China with an extremely heavy heart and asked if he would help me move from my window seat, which I normally prefer, to an aisle seat because I was honestly so emotional I made myself sick. He was very helpful in finding me an aisle seat, albeit further back in the plane, so I moved to a place I felt I would have an easy escape route to the bathroom should I feel worse.
I took a muscle relaxer (I have those babies for my back and could count on one hand how many I've taken in the last two years, but was happy to have them on Sunday) and I passed out. The flight attendant who helped move me informed another attendant about my "condition" and they looked out for me. I woke for a meal and for hydrating, but otherwise, I slept that whole flight.
Arriving back in China wasn't as difficult as I thought it might be. I was exhausted, even after all that "rest" on the plane, so getting back to my apartment that Monday night was a huge success for me, and I was able to go right to bed.
I had to get up at 5 am the next morning and head right to work. The week went on as it normally would, but with little time for me to think. I checked in with family several times via iMessage and called my mom once, but didn't really get a chance to process anything.
Last night, going to bed was a little more difficult. I suppose it's because I finally had time to process the fact that I'm here in China, and that baby girl is at home in Charleston. My heart breaks in knowing that I won't see her in person again for several months. I've always enjoyed traveling, and I do enjoy living abroad, but events such as the birth of a child, the wedding of a friend, the death of loved one, cause many of us who live overseas, or just away from our family in general, to really consider our options. My heart is and always will be in Charleston. There are bits of it scattered in other places around the world, and perhaps one day I'll be able to say a little part of my heart is in China too, but for now though, the blessing that came in that tiny package that was delivered on April 6th is a memory for me, and driving force to help me get home soon.
Much love to #SweetbabyCreighton. Your Aunt Hannah loves you very much!!
Friday, April 3, 2015
A Family Affair
For years, decades probably (and wow that makes me feel old), I have been curious about my ancestry. One of my aunts on my mother's side had done a lot of genealogy tracing my maternal line, but there has always been some debate over whether or not things were accurate. My father was adopted, which I didn't find out until I was 16 years old, and so I've never really known too much about his biological family.
At the age of 16, when I originally heard of my dad's adoption, I took it the way I expect most typical teenagers would. I rebelled. I was upset. My grandmother who I'd known and loved and spent much of my childhood with suddenly wasn't my grandmother anymore. I felt betrayed. It hurt, for years, but unfortunately, I didn't get over the shock of it until after my grandmother passed away. That's a regret I have even today. She was and always will be my grandmother, so Nanny, I'm really sorry I treated you so badly after the truth came out. I love and respect you to this day and I'm sorry for ever treating you poorly.
The story of my dad is this. He was the youngest biological son of Ida Martha Breland and Henry Blake Crosby. He had four older biological brothers and sisters. When Daddy was born on June 25, 1940, his mother died from complications in childbirth. His father died about two weeks after in what I've heard was a boating accident, but may have just been an accidental drowning. When the two parents died, the children were divided mostly among family, but my daddy, being the youngest, was separated from the rest and adopted by Mary Augustus Hill and Edgar Moore Salters. These two I came to know as my grandparents. We haven't been able to discover the root of the story yet, but most believe that Mary or Edgar were of some relation to the Crosby's.
Daddy knew of his adoption most of his life. It still baffles me as to why it was kept a secret from the grandchildren. Why I was 16 before I found out, I'll never know. That's besides the point now, however. I'm happy to know of the relationships that Daddy had with his biological siblings. I was even able to meet everyone at a reunion years ago. I'm still in contact with some of my cousins and aunts from Daddy's biological family. It's they who have given me some great insight into my own past.
Just before Christmas last year, I saw that Ancestry.com was running a special on their DNA testing. I had previously done some work on Ancestry, and although my account wasn't active, much of my research and family trees that I had started a few years back had been saved on the site. I ordered the DNA kit, reactivated my account, and patiently waited until I could go home for the Chinese New Year.
As soon as I could get my hands on the kit, which I had had delivered to my sister's house, I sat down and took the test. I had to salivate considerably into a tube and then mail off the sample. I read that it would take 6-8 weeks to get my results. In the meantime, I didn't bother to do much with my family tree.
Two weeks ago, just as I was heading out the door for a weekend trip to Hong Kong, I received an email with a link to my DNA results. I could hardly stand it. I sat at the kitchen table, crying, before I even read anything. My first glance at the results was one that left me in awe, really. I received a breakdown in the form of a pie chart which showed my ethnicity. Now, for a moment I must stop and explain something. I knew I had a lot of German on my mother's side. I suspected there was some Scottish and assumed English too. I believed I had some French and I hoped that I had some Irish. I have always felt extremely connected to Ireland. I only lived there six months, but I promise you that place is about as close to home as it comes.
So back to the ethnicity results...when I saw the estimate, it showed that I was 57% from Western Europe, 26% from Ireland (WHOOHOO) and 5% from Great Britain. The rest was too little to measure really...less than 1% Asian, less than 1% Northern African, etc. I could not believe it. I sat at the computer with tears streaming down my face. It wasn't just the Irish thing, although that was a huge part of it honestly. It was that I finally was getting somewhere with knowing who I am.
Because of the DNA test, I was instantly matched with others on the Ancestry site who had similar DNA. I sent a few emails reaching out to people with whom I was connected and very quickly I got a response from a gentleman (a long lost cousin) named Clarence. Clarence and I instantly became email buddies. He sent me so much information to read over and helped me correct my Crosby family tree. I am by no means finished as I have so much to weed through and as any "genealogy freak" will tell you, I'm addicted to digging deeper. I spent that first weekend (after returning from Hong Kong) glued to my computer. One thing leads to another, then there's double and triple checking, then you go back to the beginning and follow another leaf (Ancestry's tool for hints). I literally could sit on the website for hours doing this, but unfortunately it's been an extremely busy week at work and I haven't had any time in the last few days.
I thought I'd write this blog entry though for a few reasons. A) I really love ancestry and I have discovered so much interesting information that I absolutely have to share it B) I've posted pictures on Instagram and Facebook but I feel I now have to give the back story and C) My dear friend Katy said she was eager to read a blog post about it so here it is, some of it.
The knowledge I've gained and the history I've uncovered is outstanding, in my opinion. On my Dad's biological side, I traced the Breland line back to the late 1700's. That would be my 3rd great grandmother and grandfather. I traced this great grandmother's family back (Kearse) to her grandfather in 1720, Germany. I followed the Crosby line back to Henry E Crosby and wife Mary E Black (my second great grandfather and grandmother) in the 1800's, then continued on with her family as far back as the 1600's in the UK.
I discovered that the Black family came to South Carolina just before the time of the American Revolution. One of the neatest things I read came from an excerpt that Clarence sent me.
"According to family tradition, the Black family of Colleton County is of Scottish descent, being originally a part of Clan Alpine, later of Clan Lamont and Clan MacLean-MacGregor. The first Robert Black came to South Carolina-and America-about the time of the Revolutionary War along with two brothers whose names are unknown. He landed at Georgetown and worked on a plantation to pay for his ship's passage, as did many others at that time. For two days he worked in the field and each day refused to eat the bowl of mush served him along with the other laborers. The lady of the house, seeing that he evidently was a gentleman of refinement, on the third day had his food served on a tray with linen."
If you know me at all, that linen point is absolutely hilarious. I hate paper napkins! Ha.
As previously mentioned, any information discovered leads to other information, so I have been digging, reading, and researching more and more each little bit I get. I looked up the clans to see what I could find about them, and read a little about the Lamonts that put the pep in my step. Apparently, the Lamont clan descended from an Irish prince. Hmmm...royalty in this blood?! Not only this, but we also fought against Robert the Bruce! Wise decision, probably not, but so cool!!
So as you can see, I'm really into this ancestry thing right now. I have pictures, marriage certificates, newspaper articles and more to document my family's past. Can I say it's all 100% accurate, no. Can I say I am absolutely loving what I'm finding and connecting with my past, yes.
As I head back to the states tomorrow, I prepare for my very first niece to be born (my very first anything actually as this is my sister's first born child). One day, I'll be able to tell her stories of my discoveries. Until then, I've got more digging to do...the fun has only just begun!
At the age of 16, when I originally heard of my dad's adoption, I took it the way I expect most typical teenagers would. I rebelled. I was upset. My grandmother who I'd known and loved and spent much of my childhood with suddenly wasn't my grandmother anymore. I felt betrayed. It hurt, for years, but unfortunately, I didn't get over the shock of it until after my grandmother passed away. That's a regret I have even today. She was and always will be my grandmother, so Nanny, I'm really sorry I treated you so badly after the truth came out. I love and respect you to this day and I'm sorry for ever treating you poorly.
The story of my dad is this. He was the youngest biological son of Ida Martha Breland and Henry Blake Crosby. He had four older biological brothers and sisters. When Daddy was born on June 25, 1940, his mother died from complications in childbirth. His father died about two weeks after in what I've heard was a boating accident, but may have just been an accidental drowning. When the two parents died, the children were divided mostly among family, but my daddy, being the youngest, was separated from the rest and adopted by Mary Augustus Hill and Edgar Moore Salters. These two I came to know as my grandparents. We haven't been able to discover the root of the story yet, but most believe that Mary or Edgar were of some relation to the Crosby's.
Daddy knew of his adoption most of his life. It still baffles me as to why it was kept a secret from the grandchildren. Why I was 16 before I found out, I'll never know. That's besides the point now, however. I'm happy to know of the relationships that Daddy had with his biological siblings. I was even able to meet everyone at a reunion years ago. I'm still in contact with some of my cousins and aunts from Daddy's biological family. It's they who have given me some great insight into my own past.
Just before Christmas last year, I saw that Ancestry.com was running a special on their DNA testing. I had previously done some work on Ancestry, and although my account wasn't active, much of my research and family trees that I had started a few years back had been saved on the site. I ordered the DNA kit, reactivated my account, and patiently waited until I could go home for the Chinese New Year.
As soon as I could get my hands on the kit, which I had had delivered to my sister's house, I sat down and took the test. I had to salivate considerably into a tube and then mail off the sample. I read that it would take 6-8 weeks to get my results. In the meantime, I didn't bother to do much with my family tree.
Two weeks ago, just as I was heading out the door for a weekend trip to Hong Kong, I received an email with a link to my DNA results. I could hardly stand it. I sat at the kitchen table, crying, before I even read anything. My first glance at the results was one that left me in awe, really. I received a breakdown in the form of a pie chart which showed my ethnicity. Now, for a moment I must stop and explain something. I knew I had a lot of German on my mother's side. I suspected there was some Scottish and assumed English too. I believed I had some French and I hoped that I had some Irish. I have always felt extremely connected to Ireland. I only lived there six months, but I promise you that place is about as close to home as it comes.
So back to the ethnicity results...when I saw the estimate, it showed that I was 57% from Western Europe, 26% from Ireland (WHOOHOO) and 5% from Great Britain. The rest was too little to measure really...less than 1% Asian, less than 1% Northern African, etc. I could not believe it. I sat at the computer with tears streaming down my face. It wasn't just the Irish thing, although that was a huge part of it honestly. It was that I finally was getting somewhere with knowing who I am.
Because of the DNA test, I was instantly matched with others on the Ancestry site who had similar DNA. I sent a few emails reaching out to people with whom I was connected and very quickly I got a response from a gentleman (a long lost cousin) named Clarence. Clarence and I instantly became email buddies. He sent me so much information to read over and helped me correct my Crosby family tree. I am by no means finished as I have so much to weed through and as any "genealogy freak" will tell you, I'm addicted to digging deeper. I spent that first weekend (after returning from Hong Kong) glued to my computer. One thing leads to another, then there's double and triple checking, then you go back to the beginning and follow another leaf (Ancestry's tool for hints). I literally could sit on the website for hours doing this, but unfortunately it's been an extremely busy week at work and I haven't had any time in the last few days.
I thought I'd write this blog entry though for a few reasons. A) I really love ancestry and I have discovered so much interesting information that I absolutely have to share it B) I've posted pictures on Instagram and Facebook but I feel I now have to give the back story and C) My dear friend Katy said she was eager to read a blog post about it so here it is, some of it.
The knowledge I've gained and the history I've uncovered is outstanding, in my opinion. On my Dad's biological side, I traced the Breland line back to the late 1700's. That would be my 3rd great grandmother and grandfather. I traced this great grandmother's family back (Kearse) to her grandfather in 1720, Germany. I followed the Crosby line back to Henry E Crosby and wife Mary E Black (my second great grandfather and grandmother) in the 1800's, then continued on with her family as far back as the 1600's in the UK.
I discovered that the Black family came to South Carolina just before the time of the American Revolution. One of the neatest things I read came from an excerpt that Clarence sent me.
"According to family tradition, the Black family of Colleton County is of Scottish descent, being originally a part of Clan Alpine, later of Clan Lamont and Clan MacLean-MacGregor. The first Robert Black came to South Carolina-and America-about the time of the Revolutionary War along with two brothers whose names are unknown. He landed at Georgetown and worked on a plantation to pay for his ship's passage, as did many others at that time. For two days he worked in the field and each day refused to eat the bowl of mush served him along with the other laborers. The lady of the house, seeing that he evidently was a gentleman of refinement, on the third day had his food served on a tray with linen."
If you know me at all, that linen point is absolutely hilarious. I hate paper napkins! Ha.
As previously mentioned, any information discovered leads to other information, so I have been digging, reading, and researching more and more each little bit I get. I looked up the clans to see what I could find about them, and read a little about the Lamonts that put the pep in my step. Apparently, the Lamont clan descended from an Irish prince. Hmmm...royalty in this blood?! Not only this, but we also fought against Robert the Bruce! Wise decision, probably not, but so cool!!
So as you can see, I'm really into this ancestry thing right now. I have pictures, marriage certificates, newspaper articles and more to document my family's past. Can I say it's all 100% accurate, no. Can I say I am absolutely loving what I'm finding and connecting with my past, yes.
As I head back to the states tomorrow, I prepare for my very first niece to be born (my very first anything actually as this is my sister's first born child). One day, I'll be able to tell her stories of my discoveries. Until then, I've got more digging to do...the fun has only just begun!
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