Snapshots From the Past

Looking back over my past, there are so many memories that it’s hard to remember them all. Having pictures helps keep the memories alive.

I have a picture drawer where I keep pictures I’ve received since my parents passed away that I haven’t done anything with yet. I like to go through it every now and then just to reminisce and fill my soul with good feelings.

These pictures make my heart smile.

They remind me of people and places I have loved (and still do).

Family. New additions. Friends. Complete strangers.

Home. Vermont. The Adirondacks.

Erie Grandma and her summer cottage on the lake.

My dad’s parents’ fiftieth anniversary.

My parents’ fiftieth anniversary.

A picture of the ship my grandfather came to this country on.

Childhood friends.

My kids and grandkids as they’ve grown up.

Wedding pictures.

School pictures.

Just because it’s a beautiful day pictures.

Some of the pictures exist only in my head.

At my grandmother’s cottage in Erie, Pennsylvania (hence the name Erie grandma), there was a big screened in porch on the back with chaise lounge chairs that had cushions covered in a plastic-ish fabric.

When we visited in the summer, we kids would sleep out there at night.

In the picture I carry in my memory, I can see the fabric. It’s mostly a deep, faded red. There is a pattern on them, but I can’t quite see it.

The cushions make a crinkly noise when you sit on them.

The waves lapping the shore of Lake Erie in the quiet of the night sound to my eight year old self like what I think the ocean would sound like.

The breeze off the lake swirling through the screens smells like lake water and seaweed and it reminds me that we are indeed near the water’s edge.

It’s such a deep memory. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the feelings carry me back to the long summers of my youth.

They carry me to the peaceful sleep of childhood surrounded by sea air and the cadence of the waves.

They take me to that place where I had no worries because my parents gave me the superb gift of keeping me safe, clothed, fed, and well loved.

~~~

Then there is the memory of my mother coming through the front door of our house when she returned from the hospital after my sister Elizabeth was born. Actually, she was stillborn.

I see my mother standing in the living room. The expression she holds on her face was foreign to me. I had never seen it before.

Or since.

I was all of four and a half.

Tears roll down her cheek.

When I ask her why she’s crying, she hugs me so tight and tells me that she is just so happy to see us–my siblings and me.

And then I see my father. It’s many years later, after my mother has passed away. We go to find Elizabeth’s grave.

In the cemetery–my arm wrapped around his–my dad tells me about the day she was born. He got to hold her for a while.

He tells me she was the most beautiful baby. Ten little fingers and ten little toes.

Perfect.

We both cry a little bit as we lean into each other.

Wondering what might have been.

Another daughter to raise. Another sister to love.

~~~

These snapshots from the past, both the tangible ones and the ones that live only in my memory, speak to me of the innocence we are all born with.

They remind me of who I was, of who I am, and of how I got here.

They let me see the experiences that have shaped me.

The people, the places, the events–both good and bad.

They tell a story of how incredibly blessed I have been to have lived this life so far.

They help me see my parents as the real people they were, not just as my parents.

I’m turning sixty-five in a couple weeks.

It’s been a very long journey I’ve been on.

I’m grateful for every minute of it.

~~~

I take a lot of pictures of my grandkids.

Some day, I hope they look at them and realize how incredibly blessed they are.

I hope they remember who they were and how they got to be who they are.

I hope the pictures remind them of the people, the places, and the experiences that have shaped them.

And that these memories make their hearts smile.

~~~