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I am a descendent of genocide survivors, my great grandparents on both sides.
One story in particular has resonated with me- the story I can hear my grandmother's voice telling me at the dinner table, the story that is told in my great uncle's memoir on his experience through the genocide as a 7 year old boy. This is the book that appears often in my work: My Name is Avak and I Survived.  
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As the genocide began, Avak's father, my great grandfather, fled to Germany due to word spreading that all men were being taken away and killed. I was soon after that my great grandmother and her three children were put into the death march across the desert. Along the way, Avak had to say goodbye to his two younger siblings who couldn't withstand the trip. Avak and his mother survived the march. 
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Ten years later, my great grandmother and great grandfather got word that one another were still alive. They reconnected and settled in the united states where they had three more children, one of which was my grandmother. 
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I simply wouldn't be alive today in the chance that my great grandmother didn't survive or they didn't eventually find one another. I am a result of  miraculous chance and bravery- I hold a responsibility to be their voice. This is a story of strength, determination, faith, love and hope. 
 
These stories live in every Armenian family.