I am the dream of the immigrant

Standing at the grave of my great-great-great grandfather, Edward Hodgson.

In 1836, Edward and his wife Elizabeth left everything they knew in Newcastle, England, and took their children on a dangerous 30-day voyage to Ellis Island on a ship  called “Harriet.” I’ve read his letters. Some great injustice happened to him in England - no one knows exactly what, but it was enough to make him abandon his homeland for the complete unknown.

City Cemetery, Carlinville, IL

I understand that feeling. It’s why I left Las Vegas. Sometimes injustice reaches a point where you know you can no longer live somewhere and thrive. So you go to the unknown because no matter what lies ahead - it’s better than staying.

Edward died just two years later in Carlinville, Illinois, at only 48 years old. He never got to see what his leap of faith would become. He never knew that his courage would ripple forward through generations.

When my husband and I stood at his gravesite last summer, I realized I may be his only living descendant who has ever been there. Across the ocean, across the centuries, across all the pain and hope that separated us - I was there.

I am the dream and the hope of an immigrant named Edward Hodgson. His son, Edward Reginald, would go on to build a successful business in Athens, Georgia. That story gets complicated - as all American stories do - but it led to a deeply meaningful discovery: finding cousins Tom, Mark, Christopher, Benson, John, Avery, Jennie, Tom Jr., Kendall, Ellis and even those still in England (Jon Preston) and learning that family can transcend any divide - or ocean.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is leave. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is stay and fight. Edward did both - he left England to fight for a better future, and his legacy stayed to build bridges across time.

The Kinship Bridge: Different Roots, Same Tree