The Way We Were

The Posse and I broke bread this weekend.  For some reason, or perhaps one I am reluctant to acknowledge, it becomes more important to spend time together, airing our various viewpoints, and in a gentle way discussing our differences.

Alice, one of the charter members of the group, had recently downsized and relocated.  The conversation drifted toward her tale of the numerous picture albums she has brought to her new home.

One of the members wondered aloud, why?  Another felt it was important to maintain memories.  A third suggested it was for the grandchildren.

Still all of our grandchildren are computer experts, and it is a simple matter to put the photos either on a computer or copy to a disc.

And then, of course, the ultimate question.  “Do you need a picture to remember loved ones?”

Our opinions took a sharp turn on this one.

I recalled how within the past month I had rescued the candid shots of my youngest son’s wedding.  His daughter had during one of her delightful Facetime calls asked if there were any pictures other than those in her parents’ album.

I thought there were, and deep in the dark red folder my husband had tucked into one of the vast recesses of his treasured roll top desk, I found them.

It’s difficult to describe the emotions they evoked.  Good, of course, but mostly bittersweet.  I knew we had been happy, but perhaps forgotten quite how happy.  The phrase, “We Were the Mulvaneys” came to mind.  The Fabulous Four are pictured standing together in one shot, smiling, perhaps unaware that it was probably the last time they would be in a photograph together.

It was the way I like to remember them.  And no,  I don’t need to have a photo for that.

I gathered all of the pictures together and put them into a padded envelope and sent them off to Katherine in Michigan.  As soon as she received them, I had another Facetime call.  “Did you make copies, Grandma?  Don’t  you want the originals back?”

My beautiful granddaughter is 19, and it would be difficult for me to explain my reasoning.

The memories the pictures conjured back into reality are captured in my heart.  And the realization that life changed within a decade after that day is also there.  They are entwined. 

My husband remains the fabric of my being despite his departure from this earth six years ago.  My home is filled with favorite pictures from an earlier time in my life, but I wonder if they are necessary any longer.

The memories are what give me the strength to face tomorrow, to hope that I never forget the miracle of the years the six of us were privileged to share.  And perhaps that is really all I need right no.  Perhaps our eyes are the true cameras, and the permanent album is within our heart.