About 5 years ago my daughter received in the mail a manila envelope from my mother, inside were pictures of me.
Baby pictures, school pictures, snapshots of me alone and me with siblings, even my high school graduation picture, all stuffed in one envelope.
There didn’t seem to be any care as to which way they were put in, I remember seeing me at various ages all jumbled up.
At the time I was in shock and didn’t know what to think, and my mother had note on there for my daughter to create a scrapbook for me.
Like it was her task to put together my mother’s memories of me. I told her don’t worry honey, I will do this myself someday.
As I sit here today with the latest request still fresh in mind and me pondering how to articulate a restraining letter, this hits me with great sadness.
Sadness that my mother didn’t want any pictures of me at all, that she sent them all back.
I looked at them just now and was struck by my innocence, my trusting eyes, my faithful smile…how cute I was, how awkward too, how caring, for I was always holding a child or a hand. The evidence is all there of me, and she sent them all back.
I may find the time this year to put together a book of me, to get them out of the envelope she shoved them in, to bring them out and honor them by making a book of me.
Carefully putting back together the life of me.
