A Prelude To A Promise

My name is Wayne Joseph. I am, by birth order, the ninth of thirty-three grandchildren of Doumit Youssef Antoun El-Safi and Victoria Daniel Elias El-Hitti, both from the tiny mountain village of Qnaiouer, Lebanon. Following their marriage in 1911, a twenty-two year old farmer (Doumit aka Jiddu) and his fifteen year old, peasant bride (Victoria aka Situ) came to America to escape the abject poverty of their homeland. Their immigrant hopes and prayers rested in the American dream.

My paternal grandmother Victoria chose, among all of her children, to live with us once Doumit passed away in August, 1952. The blessings of having a daily dose of Situ simply made me a better person, a better man, a better descendant. 

She bore 9 children, 8 sons and 1 daughter between 1912 and 1931. One son, the original Joe, died six months after childbirth in 1918.  My father, his brothers and sister grew a familial bond that remains unbreakable in us, their children, their progeny, their flame.

tocarrytheirflame.com is their story. 

One I have committed myself to telling over the last 40 years.

All of the films, all of the writings began with this: 

It was an April day in the early 1980’s when I stopped by to visit my parents and Situ. I had brought them candles from the Easter Vigil. Discussing the ritual of bringing “the light” to the cemeteries to visit the graves of the deceased, my grandmother asked me “Will you take me to the cemetery?” Ten minutes later, Situ, my mother and I were heading for Mt Olivet Cemetery in Detroit. I pulled to a stop outside Section 21. A simple step outside the car and you’re at her husband Doumit’s grave. Unexpectedly, Situ knelt and began to strike the earth with both hands. She uttered, “This is where I will be” her aged hands pounding her plot adjacent to Jiddu’s. “You can visit me here” her hands stopped suddenly and folded into prayer. I recognized the opening line of the Lord’s Prayer in Arabic. Her voice now quieted as she thumbed her ever-present rosary. Helping her to her feet, we stepped over several rows of granite lives until we halted at the burial sites of her mother and a brother. Unexpectedly, she turned to me and said in her soft broken English “You’re a good man.” The earth could have opened at that moment and swallowed me, I replied “Why, because I visit the graves?” Her eyes and her words responded “Who will do this when I’m gone? What will happen to the family? Our name?” The words spilled out of me as if I had been waiting my entire life to say them “I will, don’t worry.”

Just a few years later, many of her family had gathered following the vigil at her final bedside. When the discussion turned to arrangements, I approached my father Eddie, my Uncle Don and my Aunt Vivian to request doing Situ’s eulogy. Without hesitation, Uncle Don retorted “You would do that?” 

“If you would allow it, I would be honored” I said, Situ’s graveyard questions still echoing in my head. Uncle Don nodded, “Well then, please do. That would be a big help.” 

Just like that, I felt the torch pass. The flame as bright as its weight. A lifetime assignment. A cemetery promise to fulfill.

After several films, more than a few writings and too many eulogies, we have arrived here at tocarrytheirflame.com. This is where their stories will continue. Where their precious photos will be perpetually on display. Where you can find their lives remembered replete with flaws and foibles and forevermores.

"Situ...I will, don't worry."