I didn’t expect it to hit me the way it did.
A single letter.
An uppercase cursive L, written with such elegance and rhythm that it stopped me in my tracks.
It was my grandmother’s handwriting—and it was also mine and also my aunt’s.
The same swirl. The same stroke.
The same spirit.
That moment cracked something open inside of me.
Because I realized I wasn’t just tracing loops of ink—I was tracing my lineage.
And in that instant, I saw it so clearly:
I am not separate from those who came before me.
I am them.
Living. Breathing. Continuing.
I See Myself in Them
I see myself in my Aunt, my father’s only sister and her beautiful script.
I see myself in my Aunt Valerie’s laughter and her love for crafting.
I see myself in her daughter Katrina—may she rest in peace—who played the flute so gracefully that I picked it up myself, just to honor her. And I still play. Her song lives on in me.
I see myself in my maternal Uncle—my mom’s baby brother—who is obsessed with German engineering, Volkswagens, Audis, and BMWs. And here I am, driving a BMW and loving every bit of its precision and power. My boyfriend is even in a car club for Audi lovers. You can’t make this up. It’s in my blood.
And then there’s Uncle, one of my father’s older brothers—lover of poetry and books.
Just like me.
Books have always been my sanctuary. Poetry, my sacred tongue. That’s not just a coincidence—it’s inheritance.
Another Uncle who should’ve been my father’s twin in my opinion, fills his home with the sounds of Al Green, Marvin Gaye, and music of generations before mine. I wasn’t even born when those songs were hits, yet they make me feel peaceful and understood in a way no modern song ever could.
I move my hands just like my mother. I’ve caught myself mid-motion and whispered: “That’s her. That’s her movement.” The way I speak, the way I create, the way I love—all of it, an echo of those before me.
Bloodlines and Battlefields
Even in the gym, when I feel like I can’t go on, I remind myself:
You come from warriors.
If Uncle Ed Jr. could fight in the Vietnam War, I can lift this damn weight.
If my grandfather survived World War II, I can finish one more set.
If my father—my hero—is a Desert Storm veteran, and the best Marine I know, I can get through anything life throws at me.
When I want to give up, I hear him say:
“Niecy, you better check yourself before you wreck yourself.”
And I straighten my back and keep going.
I never had the privilege of knowing my grandfathers in the physical, but I have the honor of carrying them in spirit. Their strength did not die—it was transferred.
Even in Death, They Live On
I speak this with tears streaming down my face:
Thank you.
To all of you who came before me—grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, cousins, bloodline and soulline—thank you for protecting me. Thank you for guiding me. Thank you for walking with me even when I didn’t know I was being led.
Even in physical death, your energy lives in me.
And I choose to honor you daily.
I speak your names in silence.
I feel your warmth when I create, when I nurture, when I fight for my future.
You are not just memories.
You are my memory.
You are me.
Legacy in Motion
This blog post is just the beginning.
I am writing a book—and in many ways, it’s not just my story.
It’s ours.
A love letter. A testimony. A declaration of identity, power, and divine design.
To be the bridge between past and future…
To be the living proof that your love and labor were not in vain…
To see myself in every corner of this lineage and feel honored, truly honored, to continue the legacy…
There is no greater gift.
A Final Thank You
To my Aunt/God Mother, to Aunt Valerie, to Katrina.
To Uncle Ed Jr., My Poetry loving Uncle, and the Uncle who loves Marvin and Al and gardening.
To my father. To my mother. To my grandmothers. To the grandfathers I never met in the flesh but know intimately in spirit.
To my entire bloodline, seen and unseen—
Thank you.
I carry you.
I honor you.
I am you.
And with every word I write, every breath I take, every legacy I build—I echo your name.
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