Brayden Leis

Member for
4 years 7 months 28 days
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Bio

I am 19 years old and a sophomore in College. Some of my Family Last Names are Leis, Placek, McCubbin, Schreck, Shepherd, Lay, Ward, Azeltine, Smith, and Walsh.


Genealogy begins as an interest, becomes a hobby, continues as an avocation, and in the last stages, is an incurable disease.

Author Unknown


Everything must have its end, or there is no Beginning. Death is not the opposite of Life, but the counterpart to Birth. Death is beautiful because it represents change.


"The life of the dead is placed on the memories of the living." Cicero


Dear Ancestor

Your tombstone stands among the rest


Your tombstone stands among the rest;

Neglected and alone.

The name and date are chiseled out

On polished, marbled stone.

It reaches out to all who care

It is too late to mourn.

You did not know that I exist

You died and I was born.

Yet each of us are cells of you

In flesh, in blood, in bone.

Our blood contracts and beats a pulse

Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled

One hundred years ago

Spreads out among the ones you left

Who would have loved you so.

I wonder if you lived and loved,

I wonder if you knew

That someday I would find this spot,

And come to visit you.

~Walter Butler Palmer~

I am 19 years old and a sophomore in College. Some of my Family Last Names are Leis, Placek, McCubbin, Schreck, Shepherd, Lay, Ward, Azeltine, Smith, and Walsh.


Genealogy begins as an interest, becomes a hobby, continues as an avocation, and in the last stages, is an incurable disease.

Author Unknown


Everything must have its end, or there is no Beginning. Death is not the opposite of Life, but the counterpart to Birth. Death is beautiful because it represents change.


"The life of the dead is placed on the memories of the living." Cicero


Dear Ancestor

Your tombstone stands among the rest


Your tombstone stands among the rest;

Neglected and alone.

The name and date are chiseled out

On polished, marbled stone.

It reaches out to all who care

It is too late to mourn.

You did not know that I exist

You died and I was born.

Yet each of us are cells of you

In flesh, in blood, in bone.

Our blood contracts and beats a pulse

Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled

One hundred years ago

Spreads out among the ones you left

Who would have loved you so.

I wonder if you lived and loved,

I wonder if you knew

That someday I would find this spot,

And come to visit you.

~Walter Butler Palmer~

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