Secrets Often Oppress Those They Were Meant to Protect
When I was 46, I developed an obsessive need to delve into the memories of my grandmother's past. Like a grave robber, I began to search compulsively for answers to questions I couldn't yet form. I didn't know what I sought—I only knew that I felt compelled to learn about my family's genealogy. I didn't yet realize that one secret buries another.