Dear Ancestor,

Your tombstone stands among the rest neglected and alone. 
The name and date have worn off the weathered marble stone. 
It reaches out to all who care. It's now too late to mourn 
You did not know that I'd exist, you died.... and I was born 
Yet each of us is cells of you in flesh, in blood, in bone. 
Our hearts contract and beat a pulse entirely not our own. 
Dear ancestor, the place you filled some hundred years ago 
Spreads out among the ones you left who would have loved you so. 
I wonder how you lived and loved. I wonder if you knew 
That someday I would find this place and come and visit you.
Author: Unknown

 We are the chosen,

In each family there is one who seems called to find the ancestors; to  put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family their story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. Genealogy  is not a cold gathering of facts; instead, it is breathing life into  all who have gone before. We are the story tellers of the tribe. All tribes  have one. We have been called as if it were in our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us: Tell our story, and so we do.In  them we find ourselves."
 Unknown author