Someone will be looking for it.
I wish I had my grandparents’ stories. My mother’s father, Vincent, arrived as a boy through Ellis Island, painted houses, owned a pizzeria (where my parents met) and lived a modest life; he died when I was 9. My father’s father (Joseph Francis Bottita, pictured at left) was a WWII rifle marksman, came home wounded but safe, but died of cancer at 48—two months before I was born. Reading their life stories is no longer possible—at least not the first-hand accounts; but how great it would be to read the story of their lives from their perspective—in their own words. I feel as though my grandfathers’ legacies are partially hidden from me; as though I know only pieces of their pasts. They are in some ways like ghosts to me.
A life story is a gift to yourself: A gift of reconciliation; of resolve. It’s also a gift to family and friends—a legacy of your life and times. I hope you’ll join us as you explore the time of your life. — Mark Bottita, Life Story Workshop