Twenty years ago, on an airplane, on the way to my grandmother’s funeral, I channeled and wrote a play, that was so reminiscent of my family dynamics, but set in another time. My parents howled with laughter, watching it on stage. Last night, two days before my cousin’s funeral, I connected a legitimately shocking and unexpected throughline in an ancestral story. Those people I wrote about in that play were real. They WERE my family. On another shore, in another time. But even I’m shocked.