We have a special tradition in our family that begins around my youngest daughter's birthday during the first week of November. It continues throughout the holidays and has expanded to include my dear husband, son-in-law, grandparents, and other extended family members. It is our family's Gratitude Journal. It sits on the mantel or dining room table where it is always available to the family. I started the tradition of writing in it quite a few years ago. At the time, I was a single, working mother. The holidays were around the corner, along with seemingly endless challenges and I soon found myself in a dark place

I was in the midst of wallowing. It was deep and muddy wallowing full of painful emotions and financial burdens. I was reeling from the effects of betrayal, abuse, messy divorce proceedings, and I was chin-high in bills and financial obligations that were left behind as a result of it all. My children were in the thick of it with me. It was painful to see them suffer innocently and so eventually I found myself also wallowing deep in self-pity. Then I did the most dangerous thing a person can do when wallowing, I started to compare.

I began to look around and compare my life to others. Everywhere I went and everyone that I saw seemed blissfully happy. I falsely assumed and was sure that behind their smartly-wreathed and decorated front doors there was only laughter, joy, and peace. The more I compared myself  and my family to those around me, the more miserable I became until I was literally in fetal position in bed one night, full of self-pity and paralyzed with grief. I began to wonder what had I done to be dealt such a sour deck of cards. Then I started the negative self talk which included a list of all the reasons why I of course, didn't deserve happiness. I was in a bad place!

When I am in trouble I have learned to do two things; I reach up and out! I pray and read inspirational books or scriptures! While reading one day, I came across this advice, "When you are struggling to feel grateful, have an attitude of gratitude. Keep a journal and write down something daily that makes you feel grateful."

Initially, when I read that advice I thought to myself, "Well, that's a bunch of hooey (or some other descriptive word)!" Sometimes when you feel miserable, wallowing can feel so good but only temporarily. So then I eventually decided to act on that advice. I found a notebook that would become my gratitude journal. I started to write down specific things that made me feel grateful each day. It took awhile at first to think of something to write. I was so focused on everything in my life that difficult and sad at the time. 

My list started out simple and short; air, food, water, life. 

Then over time I couldn't stop writing. My list was getting longer and more detailed.

 My life hadn't changed, but my attitude did and so then my burdens became easier to bear.

Soon, I encouraged my children to participated in the gratitude journal writing and I bought a special book with a picture of the resurrected Christ on the cover. The picture reminded me of His promise to heal my broken-heart (Luke 4:18) and it gave me additional strength. 

So, what do you do when you find a giant, 165 year old skeleton in the closet? You get all the women in the family together to ruminate the discovery. Our first annual Smith|Goulé family history girls-night-out happened on the eve of Halloween. It was an eventful evening for our family. The first of its kind and a tradition we hope will continue for years to come. 

A few weeks before we all gathered in a large hotel room in Park City, one of my aunts made an unexpected discovery. She had been perusing old English newspapers online through the FindMyPast website. After typing in the name of Louis Henry Goulé and to her surprise many articles popped up in the result field giving accounts of the same 1845 event: Murder at Durham! 

There were numerous accounts of the murder and it was the topic of much discussion in the town of Durham at the time. Louis Henry was well-known as the Superintendent of the Police. He shot his wife, Emma in the arm after a fit of jealousy. On the night of June 10, 1845, Louis Henry accused her of spending too much time with another man. Emma adamantly denied his accusations in the presence of other family members before she was shot. She died 6 days later from lockjaw caused by the gunshot wound. Louis Henry was found guilty of manslaughter on grounds of insanity and sentenced to three years prison time. He was acquitted of more severe charges which would have surely resulted in a hanging sentence and ultimately the end of that branch of my family tree.

This 3rd great-grandfather of mine left prison a changed man. He moved back to Ombersley where he originated and where his extended family still resided. He attended school to become a veterinarian and then married my 3rd great-grandmother, Mary Ann Knott. Together they had three children (he had no children with his first wife) and lived a seemingly quiet life after that.

My great-grandfather, Harry Thornley never spoke about this story or his grandfather to anyone in the family. We don't even know if he knew about it himself. It truly was a skeleton buried deep within our family closet until this month and 165 years later.

During our girls weekend we discussed all of this and then the victim, Emma Gyles. She had married one of our ancestors and her life had been cut short at just 31 years of age because of her husband's impulsive choice to be violent. We pulled out our laptops and spent time researching her family members. We read about her feisty attitude described in the testimonies of others and celebrated her assertiveness. We tried to pay homage to her by talking about what her life might have been like at that time. We all mourned her passing while trying to imagine how difficult it was for her family to overcome this loss in their lives.

Until this point, I had felt comfortable only sharing stories of my ancestors which included those in my direct line that had been victims and survivors of circumstance and abuse. I had never discovered a perpetrator directly in my ancestral line. I realized that I really only wanted to write stories about the heroes and heroines in my family; a woman that gave birth in a covered wagon with the threat of an Indian attack outside; brave young men escaping the French revolution in the dead of night; young girls helping their families settle the West and build up towns; brave men rescuing pioneers from certain death during a winter snowstorm. 

This realization helped me understand that I also need to embrace all the tragedies that make up my family history. By doing so, I am acknowledging the pain and shame that comes to families who may have a member among them who chooses to cause violence, or impulsively makes poor choices negatively impacting the lives of others around them. 

All of the sudden I felt so much compassion for families who suffer this type of adversity. I also realized how important it is to avoid any type of concluding judgements when discussing families or parents of perpetrators. Through the countless hours of time that I have spent researching my own family, I have also concluded that if any one of us is to dig long enough we will surely find deeply, embedded skeletons within each of our family closets. It is also important to remember that making poor choices is not in our DNA. Being a perpetrator of violence is not in a person's genetic make-up. It is a choice! Louis Henry Goulé made a very poor choice and it resulted in the death of his first wife. His actions should not cause me to feel shame, but should help me to feel greater empathy towards others.