Old Pictures

Today I decided to organize my office closet. Nestled in the back for the past eight years was a box of Mom's papers. I settled onto the floor to see what was there. The first manilla envelope I picked up had "Larmie, George" written on it in Mom's handwriting. I figured it would be some of my dad's stuff. Instead it was an envelope full of pictures of my oldest brother, George. Pictures of him all decked out in a white suit and white Buck's on his feet standing with one arm around his first girlfriend, Virginia. Looks like a school dance picture. There were pictures of George and his wife, Judy, their kids Keith and Lona when they were babies and toddlers. A note from Judy.

I kept exploring the contents: a journal of Mom's notes to Dad after they had gone to the Marriage Encounter Weekend back in the early 1980s; genealogy notes for Dad's side of the family that Mom had collected from various relatives over the years; a journal of writing for her grandchildren with stories from her life; and lots and lots of miscellaneous photographs.

I got them all organized into a new box and took them up to Mom's apartment. "Look what I found," I said as I put the box on her couch. Her forehead crinkled at the sight of the unfamiliar box. "Oh this is just a new box I found that is perfect for all that stuff that was in that old white box you've been looking for." Mom knew what I was talking about and she immediately put away her crocheting so she could dive in and see what was there. I sat on the couch as she opened the envelope with "Larmie, George" written on it. She pulled out the pictures and quickly thumbed through them.

"Do you know who those kids are?" I asked.

"Not really."

"Keith and Lona when they were babies. Don't you love that picture of Dad with Keith?" I held it up for her. She murmured that she liked it. Then she picked up the picture of George in his Army uniform. She studied it. She turned it over and found no name on the back. "Do you know who that is?" I asked. She paused again. I waited. "I'm not sure. Is it Dad?" I told her it was her son, George. "Oh that's right!" she said.

I love this picture of my Dad from 1968
with my nephew Keith.

And that's what I've noticed over the months since her diagnosis. She's losing her memory of the faces from her past. She knows the names of her children and grandchildren, but she doesn't recognize them in old pictures. Especially the most recent great grandchildren, like my own grandkids who visit often. Now that Ava and Logan are four, Mom can look at their baby pictures and not know who they are pictures of. However, she doesn't forget my brother George who's picture she cannot identify. George has spent 98% of his adult life not in touch with Mom. She loves him dearly, still misses him, and still asks people to pray that he will one day come and see her one more time before she dies.