It’s a grainy, out-of-focus and poorly exposed photo, the flash bulb used was so intense that it blew out all of the highlights, falling off quickly around the edges to give a dark vignette. It is also my favorite childhood photo. It’s of me and my Mom, after the Christmas chaos had been cleaned up a bit, in front of our funky little white Christmas tree. Kneeling next to me, my cowboy hat on the floor and my favorite present in my hand, Mom is grabbing my face to plant a big kiss on it. I remember all of this very clearly. My Dad taking the picture, my sister Terri standing next to him in her pink dress my brother Michael in his baby carrier. I wanted them to stop taking pictures so I could play with my Christmas presents, but Mom wanted some good photos for the family album.
I used to carry around a two inch square print of the picture in my wallet. Over the years it became soft and worn, the picture faded, rendering the subjects grey and ghostly. At the time it was the only photo I carried. Girlfriends come and go, pictures of friends and of my trips and adventures were all put into albums. Then the iPhone happened. I could carry hundreds of images with me, flicking through them every so often, sharing with Becki and my brother. Pinching and zooming through my most recent memories. It’s not the same somehow and I wanted new copy of my Christmas photo.
I looked for a replacement in my Mom’s old family album. The original negative was in a box in my her garage and looking for it there could be a days-long process unless I got lucky. Procrastination won out until many years later. Just months before my Mom died, Becki and I spent a wonderful day browsing through the boxes, organizing and separating the photos and negatives, sharing the good ones with my her. I say it was a wonderful day even though Mom couldn’t walk or talk and very likely did not understand what we were laughing and jabbering about, but she was smiling and seemed happy. She had recently survived a massive brain aneurism and had awoken from her coma after the surgery with few of her normal functions left.
It’ is now eight years since my Mom died. I still miss her very much. So much has happened since she’s been gone, both good and not so good, but I wish she could have seen it all. Being able to pick up the phone for a quick chat or visit with her, having some coffee in her backyard looking out at the avocado and lemon trees. I think she would be content and proud of the way Mike and I have turned out, both happily married, very comfortable financially, enjoying our lives with loved ones.
I have scanned and restored the negative from my favorite picture. A perfect silver gelatin print is framed and displayed in our living room. The photo is also on my iPhone, I can look at it whenever I want to, but I rarely do. I no longer carry a wallet, just a small clip with a credit card, I.D. and some cash. That might change though, especially if I get another wallet sized print of my photo made.
