Memories. They halt me in my tracks at times. My mind reels as the vivid pictures are displayed. Sometimes my heart pounds frantically as more and more images play inside my brain. They choose the moments they appear most of the time. Perhaps there is a trigger that has been pulled to set them off, but I must not always be aware of it. Other times I can easily identify the catalyst. On one of the walls along my staircase are framed photographs. I see them countless times each day. Yet, occasionally it is as if I am seeing them for the first time. One such photograph is of my husband, his two brothers, and his parents. It is a tremendous picture of the five of them. The setting is an outdoor one. Taken in their backyard. I descend the steps, glance toward the photo, and I am jarred. I stop. Stare at it. For there are now only four left in his family. His mother passed away in 2001. How can that be? Was it the swiftness of her passing that makes it not seem true? Is she happy now? Is she watching over her husband and boys and grandchildren? A bit farther down the steps is a picture of my family. My parents, me, my sisters, our husbands, my kids, and all of my nieces and nephews. Again, it was photographed outside. But not in anyone's backyard. It was at the nursing home. A sofa from the lounge had been taken from inside and placed in front of some lovely trees and bushes. Daddy had been wheeled out there and then lifted onto the couch. His legs were moved and positioned in a natural-looking pose. Mom is next to him. The rest of us are gathered closely. Some standing, some kneeling, some sitting. I am behind my father. My hands are holding onto his once-strong shoulders. That photograph paralyzes me sometimes. It mesmerizes me. I see so much more than just the figures in the picture. I see a lifetime of memories. I see the story behind why it had to be taken at that facility. I know the beautiful man on that floral sofa is no longer here. It is real, but it is unreal. Another framed picture makes me smile widely. It is of my two children, hubby, and me. The kids are wee ones. I look at their very young faces, and I am transported back into a time of Legos, dolls, tricycles, storybooks, tiny voices, giggles, and pure innocence. I chuckle noting how young hubby and I are. I always think it is time for a new family portrait to be taken to hang alongside that one. Mom wants to go to lunch today. At her request, all four of us girls are going with her. It is to a restaurant that holds memories galore for each one of us and one which we have gone to for years. It is also the place that prepares my favorite wedding soup. Mom wants to raise our glasses in a toast to the fond memories the place holds for us. The laughter. The happiness. The closeness. The warmth. The restaurant is being demolished within the next month or so. It is a massive two-story structure, and it does have much wasted space. In its place will be a small strip mall. The restaurant will be rebuilt and located in that mall, but significantly downsized. It will not feel the same. The renovation will take away the familiarity of it. Gone will be the private dining rooms where we had all gathered for celebrations of birthdays and New Year's Eves and "just because" occasions. Gone will be the specific booths where Mom and Dad dined together at least once a week. It is far more than "only a restaurant" to us. But... We will make new memories there. "A smile happens in a flash, but its memory can last a lifetime." ~Unknown
Monday, January 30, 2006
TO MEMORIES
Memories. They halt me in my tracks at times. My mind reels as the vivid pictures are displayed. Sometimes my heart pounds frantically as more and more images play inside my brain. They choose the moments they appear most of the time. Perhaps there is a trigger that has been pulled to set them off, but I must not always be aware of it. Other times I can easily identify the catalyst. On one of the walls along my staircase are framed photographs. I see them countless times each day. Yet, occasionally it is as if I am seeing them for the first time. One such photograph is of my husband, his two brothers, and his parents. It is a tremendous picture of the five of them. The setting is an outdoor one. Taken in their backyard. I descend the steps, glance toward the photo, and I am jarred. I stop. Stare at it. For there are now only four left in his family. His mother passed away in 2001. How can that be? Was it the swiftness of her passing that makes it not seem true? Is she happy now? Is she watching over her husband and boys and grandchildren? A bit farther down the steps is a picture of my family. My parents, me, my sisters, our husbands, my kids, and all of my nieces and nephews. Again, it was photographed outside. But not in anyone's backyard. It was at the nursing home. A sofa from the lounge had been taken from inside and placed in front of some lovely trees and bushes. Daddy had been wheeled out there and then lifted onto the couch. His legs were moved and positioned in a natural-looking pose. Mom is next to him. The rest of us are gathered closely. Some standing, some kneeling, some sitting. I am behind my father. My hands are holding onto his once-strong shoulders. That photograph paralyzes me sometimes. It mesmerizes me. I see so much more than just the figures in the picture. I see a lifetime of memories. I see the story behind why it had to be taken at that facility. I know the beautiful man on that floral sofa is no longer here. It is real, but it is unreal. Another framed picture makes me smile widely. It is of my two children, hubby, and me. The kids are wee ones. I look at their very young faces, and I am transported back into a time of Legos, dolls, tricycles, storybooks, tiny voices, giggles, and pure innocence. I chuckle noting how young hubby and I are. I always think it is time for a new family portrait to be taken to hang alongside that one. Mom wants to go to lunch today. At her request, all four of us girls are going with her. It is to a restaurant that holds memories galore for each one of us and one which we have gone to for years. It is also the place that prepares my favorite wedding soup. Mom wants to raise our glasses in a toast to the fond memories the place holds for us. The laughter. The happiness. The closeness. The warmth. The restaurant is being demolished within the next month or so. It is a massive two-story structure, and it does have much wasted space. In its place will be a small strip mall. The restaurant will be rebuilt and located in that mall, but significantly downsized. It will not feel the same. The renovation will take away the familiarity of it. Gone will be the private dining rooms where we had all gathered for celebrations of birthdays and New Year's Eves and "just because" occasions. Gone will be the specific booths where Mom and Dad dined together at least once a week. It is far more than "only a restaurant" to us. But... We will make new memories there. "A smile happens in a flash, but its memory can last a lifetime." ~Unknown
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4 comments:
Music does that for me. I hear a certain song and I am instantly trasported back.... I have some memories of my dad, but mostly they are foggy to me now. I miss him even though I was so mad at him. Tawnya
Oh this touched me closely. I took have a staircase filled with wonderful photos. I relive the moments often when I get out the windex to wash the faces of the people i love so they can smile brightly at me.
smile-flash, memory-lifetime. I like that.
Thanks for watching my video of the grankiz, They are my 4 reasons to smile as big as i do...
A beautiful essay.
V
This was really, really nice Bedazzzled. Kind of in a haunting way. I find it interesting that people, even me look at pictures that trigger new thoughts and memories, but this after having grown so much. I found this quality in listening to your voice. Sometimes, I think we go back to those spaces and have similar thoughts like "I wish my Dad were here now." But, then we begin attaching new thoughts that come to mind, perhaps you talked to him about a child's accomplishment, or one of your accomplishments, for those moments it is as if he is present again and you feel his pride in you.
This is some pretty cool stuff. He's changing with you. I think there is an Irish tradition of putting out the drink of the one being fondly remembered. What would your father take?
us
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