Wow! What a great story! I “came back” to check on you, Felicia. We had a conversation a bit ago. I found this story, a lovely gift! Your write so beautifully.

I realized I was reading in tempo as if your words were a song.

More importantly: your journey.

While I am of Irish-English descent, my dad, when he was diagnosed with cancer in 2005 asked me to help him with something he suspected in our family. He had copies of 26 years of a diary left by a 2nd great grandfather. My dad was something, a template of God: he loved unconditionally. And family meant all to him. He read me passages of that diary and asked if I agreed that we had Black family. I did. He wanted to find them.

5 years later he died. We didn’t get far but in 2010, I took up the search seriously. In his honor. I traced records over two continents. And then DNA.

My story fills me with shame and also brings light. My 4th great grandfather mastered slave ships. I have the routes that they sailed, the dates, the “cargo” and that’s something I grapple with daily. I’m getting the names if the ships that he owned from a museum in Liverpool.

His son, the one who left the diaries, came to America by pirate.

He fought with Lafitte at the Battle of New Orleans and was offered a position to teach after. He moved to what is now a strip of Southwestern Louisiana. Then it was a swamp of malaria. I wonder still why this wealthy, educated city boy chose to live in such a place. It was hard building everything from scratch in the middle of nowhere, including a boarding school for the children scattered around the area.

He married my 3rd great grandmother, Eliza Ryan. Her father gifted them one young female slave. The slave census of 1860 told me all I needed to know: one female black, 4 males mulatto. Yes, Daddy we have Black cousins. That’s why he taught those boys to read and write.

Felonise, their mother, was barely 15 when her First son was born. By 1860 he was 10. His brothers were 7, 5 and 1. My grandfather raped Felonise. At least 4 times. I wonder a lot of things.

After the Civil War ended and the city of Lake Charles thrived, it’s “father” a Ryan, a brother of Eliza’s, I traced the tale of our original sin. I can show you White privilege on paper. Those boys carried his name, making that easy. My DNA took 4 years to begin to show my Black cousins as matches.

Some are very open to me and some not. I always apologize. They all knew the story my father suspected and I’ve paid money and time to research. More and more match each month. I already love two, one of whom died of Lupus in 2013. We share that disease. I believe I continue to live because of White privilege and all that implies.

I can’t know what you are feeling on this new journey of life I can only now to your courage. Your story speaks to a conflicted heart very bravely. Keep telling your story, asking your questions, wondering bravely.

At times I’m so conflicted. I hate my family. I never knew them but I am responsible, too. It’s hard. But it is nothing compared to having to incorporate Black DNA in this America.

I hope to use my story to ally.

Long story but another great grandfather came to Jamestown indentured. When he was freed he got 50 acres, a horse and the vote. White privilege began. He received freedom and reparations yet still Black Americans have neither. And soon after my 10th great was freed, Virginia declared the “one drop” rule. You see, so many White and Black indentured servants had become friends then lovers then family, they rebelled together as one. The White men in charge couldn’t have mixed race free people so they divided us by giving Whites freedom, by contractually changing the Blacks to slaves and declaring that “one drop” made people Black. And today we see where that led.

I hope, selfishly, that you write fully of this journey. You have such a gift!

Thank you so much for sharing such a tough story so openly. You have guts.

And I hope your depression is subsiding more quickly. More than that I hope you are moving closer to knowing in your heart and your head just how special you are. It can be a slow journey but you’ll get there.

Wishing you well,

Colette