Grave Disposition

What I saw where my ancestors rest

On the J4 bus to Waterbury, I pulled out my notebook and wrote two lines: “Isabel Gillis,” my distant English relative, and “my mom’s mom’s mom’s grave,” the reason I was on the bus. It was a blustery mid-September day, and I was headed to meet Isabel so that we could tour old family dwellings together. The bus slowly made its way from the New Haven Green, passing through a landscape of strip malls and overgrown medians. In 1909, my great-great grandfather John Gillis immigrated. . . Read more
Isaac Kirk-Davidoff