Finally, I can breath. Peacefully, without thought, I can inhale all that is around me and not feel like I am suffocating in twisted emotions; but, I still miss you so much it hurts. You are in every sound, every smell, every sight in this city. I have tried to run, to hide among places and people I thought would distract me........but unfortunately, nothing has worked. The last few months have been filled with tortured anguish as I succumbed to all the weathered emotions and in complete submission let myself grieve over you. Repeatedly I have heard the slighted whispers that I have anguished too often, that the importance I have foolishly assigned to my feelings far outweighs the importance you placed. None of this matters, as each person lives on definitions of their own design. Whether is was you or the close embodiment of an ideal I secretly possessed, our time together awakened within me an eagerness tinged with ecstasy and mania. In veiled innocence, I relinquished myself to possibilities.
The next line I tackled was the Mitchell family. My great grandmother was Artha B Mitchell (1883 - 1977). I can barely remember her. I was ten years old when she died. She was the daughter of Francis Marion Mitchell (1855 - 1904). It is Francis's grandfather, Andrew Mitchell, Jr. (1760 - 1824) who served in the Revolutionary War. It is truly a story worthy of legend. Andrew was one of 3 sons born to Irish immigrants Andrew and Mary (McGowan) Mitchell. The young family came to the colonies in 1752. They began their journey in a Scottish - Irish community in Eastern Pennsylvania before migrating to Orange County, North Carolina. Besides the boys, Andrew and Mary had 2 daughters, Margaret and Nancy. At the time of the Revolution, my 5th great grandfather, Andrew, Jr was just starting his family. He had married Mary Tate in 1781. He was in service but took furlough to be with his ill wife. This informa...
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