A Portrait of Loretta
Back in 1984, after my father’s passing, my siblings gathered
for the task that I suspect most children really hope somehow never happens - dividing
up our parent’s personal belongings.
Since my mother had passed away five years earlier, there was a very
tangible sense that an era in our lives had ended. The seven of us sat in a circle in our
parents’ living room, as “the stuff” of their shared life was brought to the
middle of the room one piece at a time.
Perhaps the item we spent the longest time with was the old cardboard
box that was filled with all of the photographs accumulated through, and in
some cases even before, their years together.
We each grabbed handfuls of loose photographs and
started sorting them into seven piles, one for each of us. I noticed several things. First. The vast majority of the photos were black
and white. There was a fairly clear dividing
line as most every photo that was in color quickly dated it to the very late
1960’s or after. Pictures actually taken
by my parents were relatively few and far between. The sheer volume of pictures increased in the
years that my two sisters had cameras of their own. And, the number of pictures of grandchildren
taken over one decade easily exceeded all of the childhood pictures taken of us. I think that spoke to two realities: taking
and developing pictures over time became easier and cheaper, and there may have
been a realization that time passes so very quickly; snatch what memories you
can while you can.
When the box was empty an eighth stack that had
accumulated without much notice was returned to it. These were pictures, for the most part, of extended
family members that at first pass, none of us really felt attached to. One picture though that was placed back in the
box began to bother me.
The picture was the high school portrait of my Aunt
Loretta. She was someone who died before
my parents were even married, so none of us knew her. As the youngest of my family, I was the
furthest removed from Loretta than any of us, so it was curious as to why
seeing it get placed in what was the ‘throwaway’ pile immediately began to
agitate me.
I really hadn’t known anything about Loretta until the
last year of my mother’s life. Both of
my parents were very private people who didn’t speak much, if at all, about
their past. But, during the last year of
my mother’s life as she battled cancer, I think that she really connected
deeply again with her sister, Loretta.
See, Loretta died of Leukemia before that high school picture could
become her graduation picture. During that
final year of my own mother’s life, I suspect she spoke with Loretta as someone
whom she trusted, who really understood what she was going through. I know that Loretta was on my mother’s mind
because she began to talk about her with me.
She talked about Loretta’s easygoing nature and ready
smile. Even as the Leukemia got worse,
Loretta was cheerful; my mother said that her smile and her faith in God never
faltered. The hardest memory was that
because no local hospital claimed to have any kind of treatment, the decision
was made to send Loretta to an out-of-state medical facility that treated those
with her condition. They sent her off
with great hope and many prayers, but a cure or even remission didn’t come. The one thing my mother grieved most was that
she was not at Loretta’s side as she passed away.
My mother passed away just weeks after sharing that
regret with me. I have always believed that
Loretta was there by my mother’s hospital bed praying for her as she completed her
own journey through the thin veil and into eternal life.
As the evening ended with my siblings we hugged and
said our good-byes. I stayed back to
turn off the lights and lock the door.
But before I did, I went back to the living room, reached into the cardboard
picture box and took out Aunt Loretta’s picture.
It occurred to me that twenty years prior, when she was in a similar circle
with her siblings and they were going through their family’s picture box, that
my mother chose Aunt Loretta’s picture to keep.
Maybe it was the best that she could do to remember that smile, to
remember the face of someone she loved, to not leave her to be alone. I didn’t want to leave her behind either.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Comments
Post a Comment