Sentimental Journey

Touching Memories, for a Few Precious Moments
Sorry I am late writing. Christmas was busy and emotional!!!

Recently I was given an ultimate gift. I know it arose from the growing years I truly have worked to forgive my first husband after our divorce. He didn't hold employment for most of our 29 years together, health and mental health reasons. He was a photographer by hobby and he found great pleasure taking many beautiful scenes of the Alberta Temple in Cardston, then selling some of his photographs through our small town bookstore.

At times, during our marriage, I found myself frustrated by his disappearing for hours at a time to add to his collection of photos. In contrast, I so enjoyed images he would take for me, like head and shoulder shots of each of our children that I asked for in black and white. I did my own black and white darkroom work at that time (learned for my newspaper job). As the older children grew into teens they were changing into "people" each strong in their own way. I'd come to discover black and white was my preferred medium because the images did not age as time passed. He provided the precious negatives and one by one they were converted into 8" by 10" photographs for our living room wall.                                                               

He seldom appeared in family photos. He played the photographer repeatedly. Every once in a long while, he would use the camera's timer and he'd join us... but not really "join us". We would congregate in a warm family "bunch" but he'd often stand to one side not really including himself as head of our family. But then, perhaps by his standing aside, he may have imagined himself as "head of the family" in his chosen stance. I don't think I'll ever know in this life. He died three decades ago.

Now back to my blog .... Images I'll save in misplaced mental file folders, perhaps too soon.

#1 Sitting quietly in a Sunday service weeks ago, eyes closed, my mind focused (which it seldom is) and my heart in private prayer, a perfect set of photos revealed themselves for me from my tattered memory bank. All but one had one of my beloved children as the focal point. Each image came before me, in succession, like a well-timed private PowerPoint presentation. It was amazing.

Correct 'spirit', wrong colors,
 but you can't have it all!!!

The lead snapshot was my first-born son. There he was, taking his first steps, at a run. My husband had captured him in action, one foot lifted forming the next running step. He was wearing a red knit sweater and red shorts, white baby boots and socks. I suddenly realized in the memory photo, my hands were behind my first baby. I'd set him off on his joyous life's journey without even knowing it. He must have been racing toward his dad, who held the camera. For as long as I can remember, he was always focused on his father. Even at 3 months of age, I can still see him in his baby walker, standing firmly (yes standing, even against furniture at three months) by our apartment door, waiting for his Dad. It was as if he had a timer inside him beckoning him to his spot. I can say truly he was less dependent upon me from those early months and it wasn't because I didn't adore him, but it was so obvious to anyone watching.. he was a daddy's boy!

What a wonderful and treasured photograph they created by their united timing. It captured my parenting "lift off" moment with my body bent and my arms outstretched to set him free. The picture was the initial moment of  my son's excitement at his unexpected boyhood and lifelong freedom. It was so beautiful and not at all "blurred" despite the motion.

#2 This image was and is eternally special. My daughter was born 6 weeks early but at 6"12 oz.  I thought she must have had strength and endurance. Nothing could be further from the truth. At the time she was delivered, 2 babies had died in the nursery and staff did not know the cause. They spoke of a virus, but nothing absolute was expressed.

I was not allowed to hold her, to feed her or even visit her in the nursery - such were the good old days! I was sent home, indirectly because the fraternal family were gathered for an event. My memory is nearly empty of those hours, but I do know my son reached for something near the BBQ and burnt his tummy. I rose and tried to lift him and everyone ran to keep me from holding his weight (I'd had a C-Section) and in tears, both he and I were gratefully driven home for quiet reuniting.

I'd call the hospital  nursery daily and each call ended with how much weight she had lost. As a young mother, my assertive skills needed honing, but my instincts were on course, and by day three I yelled, I'm coming there and I'm going to feed her myself.

I stayed all day loving and nourishing her. and left about 10 or 11 PM. I called the next morning for a report and they acknowledged she'd GAINED weight. Again I asserted myself. I told them I was bringing her "going home" clothes with me and we'd be checking out! The nurse sensed it might not be wise to argue and that's what I did.

My daughter had been robbed of 6 days without the essential love, bonding and affection she needed to thrive and when we came home (late summer day, warm house), I stripped her down to a diaper and an undershirt. My son was on our ground level, well fenced, front patio, with his "yellow Duckie,"

water worthy toys and the water sprinkler on low (to keep him cool). The baby and I lay on the sofa together. I on my back, she on my chest and we slept... That's when the miracle of the second photo was created. The two of us alone, her being loved and my being relieved, all in the same image.

#3 This image takes some explaining. My number two son, but number 3 child was born intellectually impaired. I'd had the measles in the first trimester, along with my other children. I was five feet three inches in height and he had a 21 inch body at birth. The physicians imagined he might be 4 pounds when delivered, but to their surprise he was 7 lbs 10 oz with a very "narrow" skull (which is why the doctors were surprised).

He stayed very, very slender and still has that same build today at 47 years of age. As a matter of fact, he still wasn't sitting independently at six months. Again the doctors thought it was due to his impairment. Again I sensed it was due to how tiny his bottom was compared to his head and shoulders. The poor guy couldn't find the right balance to sit. Later, his sitting became part of his mode of transportation. He would sit, legs ahead of himself, pulling himself across carpets. lino, etc. He joyed at finally finding his own, unique mode of transportation.

Now to setting the stage for my gifted image.

He didn't walk until well after a year of age, unlike his siblings. Again balance was his issue. But when he began to cruise furniture it was hilarious to see him rise to his feet while his pants (yes all his pants) fell to his ankles. He became the reason I developed survival sewing skills. I put my imagination to the task, designed (with blue polyester fabric - always on sale) jumpers that buttoned at the shoulders, and he was "enthusiastically" set for adventure.

The memory photo was taken shortly after he began to play outside, walking/running to keep his balance, always with his upper body wobbling and his arms aloft, both needed to compensate for his small feet and hips. The photograph memory is one such moment.  He's running toward the camera, arms in the air, mouth open in screeching ecstasy, wearing one of his blue jumpers. Even today as a middle aged man he has a unique running style, with the same spirit.

Three plus four make "trouble!"

#4 This daughter met all the developmental benchmarks, was as cute as a button and snuggled like her big sister, but for shorter spurts. She was a double dose of adventure and she seemed incredibly attached and playful with her brother, "Mr. Enthusiasm."

When I say they made quite the pair, I'm not embellishing. She peddled her tricycle, and he stood firmly behind her, hanging onto her like she was a tree trunk.

She seemed to have no fear when she left the yard. Nor did she feel confined by my begging her to discontinue her escapes with him. I'd typically put them in the back yard, (patio, grass space, garden, large greenhouse,  toys, baby pool full of water) and check on them quite regularly (house cleaning, caring for baby #5, making meals).  I could see most of the yard from the kitchen window and all of it from the backdoor area. But that did not stop my "enterprising wanderer" from peddling away with her "big" brother.

One afternoon, I was frightened and yelling for them from the front sidewalk (holding #5 on a hip). Moments later, like the gods were answering my prayers, I could hear our phone ringing (the world knew about her escapades ). It was my brother. He was at a local mall. 

"I think I have two of your kids here? Did they escape on a trike?" ... He drove them home to me. It wasn't a great distance, but it included one busy street with a light.

And now to the #4 photo that always grabbed my heart and always made me forgive her... It happened at her first birthday party. Near our picnic table in a local park were play sets that included swings (the sort with the child well housed for protection). Another "action" memory of my baby girl, before she'd found ultimate freedom. The swing had been pushed back and it was returning toward the camera. She was laughing and still had birthday cake on her face. She was the happiest child of them all. 

And then there were five...


 #5  For those readers who are not into "personal revelation" experiences, I'll simply say I knew exactly when this baby entered the world. She arrived as a foster child for convenience (I couldn't have more children) and was the smallest in birth weight among her siblings.

She was very unhealthy, only 5' 6 oz, crying incessantly and I knew she'd be mine forever. She was so tiny, her nick name quickly became "bones".
By the time she was a "one-er" she was strong, robust and had cheeks you could pinch. That's the age she was when my favorite photo was taken.                           

She was so lonely when her brothers and sisters played outside, she would creep to the front screen door, pull herself up to jabber at them.  When tired, she'd plunk herself down and refresh until she stood up again. Her smiling, seated position right in front of the screen door was the captured moment. She too, was feeling a sense of adventure and independence. It was both cute and beautiful. She wasn't wearing frilly or fashionable clothes, but she seemed absolutely content in her diaper and undershirt (I believe she has plastic pants over her diaper). That was another sign of the times.

#6 He too arrived as a foster child. Three months old. "Failure to Thrive" medical diagnosis, and less physical than the others. I feel selfish declaring  him as one of mine, but he grew up with us and passed away just a few weeks short of his 19th birthday. I'm cautious declaring him mine, but I met his birth mother the day he came to me. She and her husband were both intellectually impaired and thus they'd had challenges with a baby no one had identified as being extremely allergic (milk free, gluten free, food coloring free). Plus he had Duchene's Muscular Dystrophy and was Obsessive Compulsive.

There were many, many photos of him, but it's not a photo I recall with eternal and memorial appreciation. It's a drawing he produced over days and days of artistry.

Our family were Mormon's. The Church doesn't approve of our using this abbreviated reference to our religion, but back then it was common. Anyone who recalls television images of the Tabernacle Choir singing, will envision the huge organ pipes in the background with many, many, many choir members in the foreground. My son must have loved that image, because he may have lacked some intellectual capacities, but he had an obvious photographic memory.

His drawing included the organ pipes and a host of tiny circles depicting each choir member. He would darken the pencil lines for days, and would not let the artwork go until he was totally pleased with final 8 inch by 11 inch (landscape) snapshot. Everyone in the family knew it was his pride and joy. 

AND then there were none!!!!

Lewy Body missing memories are frustrating for sufferers and families, but for some reason I've been blessed with these memories (for the time being) intact and strongly planted. Many of us take photos with a camera or download them to a computer. Others may take pictures with our phone. Take a suggestion from the writer... select a few that you find the most fulfilling, precious and memorable, put them in a file in your mind and heart.