I have a bit of a habit of reviewing my memories page on Facebook each morning. Call it a routine if you like. I find myself amused by reading what I was talking about last year or ten years ago. It's amusing because all of that seems like it was just a few days ago, or maybe a year or so. That's what happens when you "mature", time takes on a different duration. If you are old enough, you understand exactly what I mean. This morning a post from two years ago caught my attention. I had posted a photograph gifted to me by my sister.
The first thought I had was of my sister, gone six years now. I thought of how I was with her for the last time, six years ago. She was in a hospital bed, at home and her husband had put up the Christmas tree and decorated the home. I was there for Thanksgiving and we both knew, to say goodbye. That wasn't spoken of however, the mood remained optimistic, there was no dramatic scene, rather an acceptance of fate. She would pass on December the fourth. We did speak of all the Christmases past. The picture she had gifted me was one of those.
This photograph was taken by my dad at Christmas 1955. I was two years old. Two years separated all us kids, my sister two years older than I, then brother Dan and brother Harold. Six years between the oldest and the youngest. In childhood years, six is a large number. But in 1955 we were all at home together, and we were sporting our new Doctor Dentons. Yes, long before any tradition of wearing matching pajamas for Christmas we did that. Standing in a line from oldest to youngest we posed for that picture proudly! I wasn't aware, I was two, but it was a moment. My mother had that picture in a frame, on a shelf next to the fireplace. It was there for as long as I can remember.
Many years later, when we were all together again, it was decided we should recreate that picture. Well, by then dad had passed, that's why we were all together, for his funeral service. Back then we weren't celebrating life, we were mourning the loss. Our childhood home had been sold years ago and no one had their Dr. Dentons with them. But we could all stand in a line, just as we had in 1955. The picture was taken and copies promised to everyone. I never received a copy of that photograph. And in a twist of fate or irony, it was the last time all four of us siblings would stand together. The original photograph and the "new" version were often topics of discussion with my sister and I. Those memories and moments shared with your siblings and others. Those little moments in time.
Time passed and then one year, sadly I can't say with certainty what year it was, my sister sent that picture in it's frame to me as a Christmas gift. She told me she had come into possession of the original photograph and had it copied. The frame is engraved with our names and Happy Holidays. I was, and am grateful for that gift. I did ask her why Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas and her answer was, the engraver thought it fit better. Of course with her we both knew that Happy Holidays was just another way of saying Merry Christmas. That was long before all this pc hullabaloo about inclusivity. The holidays were Thanksgiving and Christmas, everyone knows that.
I have that photograph in my bedroom. I just may bring it out and include it in my Christmas decorations. I have to admit I'm not feeling much like Christmas this year, for no particular reason. The head doctors may have an explanation for that. My mood may change at any time though, we'll see. Seeing that picture on my memories page this morning did make me smile. All the years, all the memories and that moment remains still. Sixty nine years ago: seems like just a little while back when I see that photograph, until I think about it, then I remember. It's a strange thing, memories can make us happy, while remembering can make us sad. I was happy in that photograph. A memory stored.
1955
No comments:
Post a Comment