Lineage Part 1: Family Roots

Although I did not consciously choose to follow in the footsteps of my relatives, something has led me down this path.

When my father was just 18 he had to drop out of college due to a blood clot in his brain. This was 1962, he was already married and starting a family, so he needed a way to make money. My grandfather told him, “People always need two things- to get buried and to get out of jail.” After spending some time in recovery, he went to embalming school and began working as an EMT as part of his apprenticeship. (Back then the funeral homes owned the ambulances.) He worked in the funeral business for around 7 years, eventually becoming director of his own funeral home. He also became county coroner after 46 out of 48 Tennessee Justices of the Peace voted for him. Once upon a time, the town sheriff died, so by default he became temporary sheriff for 9 months. He also served as Civil Defense Director. He spent a significant amount of his youth in the presence of death and continuously contributed to his community, which inevitably shaped his perspective on life and how he would raise me later.

His father, my grandfather, died when I was 5. My grandfather became an orphan at the age of 3. As an adult he was always a musician first, but worked all sorts of jobs to pay the bills. One of his positions was Director of Community Development in his town. His funeral was my first, one of my earliest memories, and the first dead body I ever saw. I can now appreciate the fact that my parents did not try to shield me from death, for death is a part of life. In middle school I volunteered at a nursing home; even then I did not seem to be afraid of confronting my own mortality. When I was 10, one of my uncles died in a motorcycle accident. His funeral was one of a handful of times I’ve ever seen my father shed tears, and the first time I witnessed the agony of a parent who is forced to bury their child. I cannot forget the sound of my grandmother crying. Later I witnessed this type of great loss again when one of my cousins took his own life.

My grandmother would teach me more about death— sadly in a tragic way. The last time we spoke she somehow knew it would be our final encounter. As I hugged her goodbye we both burst into tears. Months later she had a stroke, and although her file read DNR (Do Not Resuscitate), the nursing home staff did not follow the order. She was in a coma for months before finally passing. I was enraged as she withered away and frequently fantasized about pulling the plug myself.

My mother’s first degree was in exercise science, but later she was a social worker when she became pregnant with me. I like to joke that I’m addicted to empathy since I began experiencing significant amounts of it in the womb. Mom graduated from law school when I was 9 years old; I have vivid memories of her studying while also working part time and raising me and my younger sister. My parents both taught me the value of hard work. After passing the bar on her first try, she became a public defender. Strangers frequently approached us while shopping or at restaurants—they turned out to be her clients just wanting to say, “Thank you.”

I grew up playing in the pews of an empty church. My maternal grandmother is a Reverend; holding both a MA in Divinity and a MA in Theology. She worked as a hospital chaplain for 9 years. Her advice has been crucial during my work in hospital settings. Her husband, my grandfather, was an Army medic and conscientious objector during the Korean War.

In 2012, I started working on a women’s rights project studying maternal mortality in the Mississippi Delta. It was the first time I encountered medical professionals with burnout symptoms, and the catalyst which led me down the path of teaching yoga therapy to healthcare workers. That was 7 years ago. Just this year I learned that my great-grandmother died during childbirth when my grandfather was only 3 years old. (I previously thought she died from something else!)

My ancestors Charles and Thomas Driver came over in the mid 1600s and built the oldest church in Virginia- St.Luke’s. They got on a wooden ship, with only a compass and the stars to guide them, and crossed an entire ocean. They rejected a traditional lifestyle in England and risked their lives for adventure. When they landed in America, they built a sacred space so strong that it is still standing.

I have several aunts, uncles, and cousins who are healers and protectors. They have all given me the gifts of resilience and humor, even in dark times. Laughter truly is the best medicine.

So, as you see, I am somehow following in everyone’s footsteps. Perhaps there is such a thing as spirit, and I am being guided down a path I am meant to walk. Or perhaps I simply share the same DNA and similar brain structure as these other homo sapiens. I never planned for things to end up like this. But one way or another all these folks have shaped me into the person I am today. I have always been lucky to have the company of wise elders. Without their guidance and shoulders to cry on, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today.