I found the picture by accident, or at least I believed it was.
If my wealth was measured by the paper I own, I would definitely be included in the top 10 Billionaires list. Unfortunately, that is not so, and I have spent the past week or so wading through mounds and mounds of paper. All incredibly important, or why would I have saved them. Unfortunately, as I dig deeper and deeper into the pile, I find numerous other things I had forgotten about.
Miscellaneous notes from long lost friends, thank you notes from now middle aged children, reminders of other days, happier perhaps, but now long gone.
Tucked into one of these small unmarked envelopes, the picture fell out. It was of my Mother and her sister.
Despite having spent their entire lives truly devoted to each other, it is the only picture I have seen of them together.
My Mother was the older one, probably about ten years, although I was never quite certain. Helen, the younger, never escaped Mom's shadow, nor wanted to.
Who was the caregiver? To all appearances, it was Mom, but as I think about it,
my Aunt was her support. A quiet stand-in for many responsibilities, trips to the doctors with her three nieces, attendance at all school functions, and always, always, the quiet mediator of family issues.
I took the picture to the camera shop and had copies made for all the women in the family. I was certain no one else had this remembrance of the two
women who set standards for all who followed.
And now it sits on my desktop, and as I look at it, so many emotions emerge.
As a child, I was resentful of the relationship. Sometimes it seemed to shut me out. I felt a yearning to be alone with my Mother, it was seldom possible. And yet as I look again at the gentle face of my Aunt, I cannot help but recall her affection and kindness and remarkable belief in goodness, and I miss her dreadfully.
There were always family secrets so my sisters and I never knew how the unusual bond began with the two sisters and endured until the elder one died.
We all worried about our Aunt after her sister had left. It wasn't necessary. Despite her age, for the first time in her life she lived alone and to all outward appearances, enjoyed the solitary life and in a sense, her own coming of age.
Decisions were hers alone, as were sorrows, joys and relationships. Life indeed is mysterious constantly teaching us many lessons.
I look at the picture and reflect on their independence and strength and emotional vitality until the end of their days. And I realize finding this picture was no accident.
I needed to remember them and their importance in my life.
