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Photographic Memories
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Photographic Memories |
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HumbleBee Member
since 2002-01-06
Posts 52Kentucky |
Each night I watch as he wistfully carries an old brown shoebox filled with photographs from the closet to his bedside. Even at age six I know to never interrupt Daddy's nightly reverie. While sitting on his bed, he sips moonshine from a dirty water glass that faithfully waits and anticipates being filled with intoxicant that generates a medley of tears for its mixer. In between sips, he carefully selects paper images of Mom, pictures displaying happier times when we were a family...before she left. He reminisces each photographic memory until tears flow silently down trembly cheeks and splash on the floor of his heart. Years later when Daddy dies, he is alone, but in the hour he slips away from this mortal life...hundreds of miles away...I feel homesick to hear his voice...even try to phone...not knowing he was passing by me at that very moment on the way to his eternal home. After the funeral, I wonder if Daddy still has his shoebox of memories. Familiar fragrance of Old Spice cologne entices tears to hinder my search of his closet. A small, black and battered suitcase nestling on the top shelf beckons my heart, the same suitcase he packed each time he visited us at the orphanage. I sit down on his bed and snap open the old-fashioned latches. I watch as the dust floats on the current of stale air...I recall how all Daddy's dreams had drifted along on the current of alcoholism until they were painless memories that could be easily erased and replaced with acceptance and forgetfulness. Inside the suitcase are photographs of me and my sisters, along with cards and letters we had mailed him over the years. He even saved the first letter scribbled when I was eight years old. Photographic memories protected from signs of aging inside an ancient suitcase...along with worn, well-read pamphlets collected at various funeral homes revealing God's salvation plan through Jesus Christ. Tears blind me as I hold Daddy's memories. Remembrances he had clung to all these years. I look at each picture, read each letter. Suddenly I realize there are no pictures of Mom in his suitcase. Portraits that demanded a price of tears lost their value through the years and had been deemed worthless and were discarded as time healed the wounds in Daddy's heart. And I wonder as he sat on his bed each night, sipping the legalized whiskey that would not set him free...his companion in life and contributor to his death...I wonder if Daddy cried as he gazed at our photographs and read our letters of the distant past. I wish I could have been there when he cried, I would have told him... "It's okay, Daddy, you did the best you could, I love you and I'm so proud of you." (fran.10/01) |
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| © Copyright 2002 Fran Marie - All Rights Reserved | |||
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mauddib Member
since 2002-01-12
Posts 119melbourne australia |
I trembled when I read this. Beautifully written, clear, clean shards that stabbed my heart. " a medley of tears" "on the floor of his heart" I could feel the cold sour water course down your cheeks Very brave and thank you for sharing take care and God bless. |
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poetry_kills Senior Member
since 1999-12-04
Posts 549new orleans |
dear humblebee, i found this piece touching and disturbing at the same time... if nothing else can be said, it portrays genuine emotion in an all too real situation... i also must say i desired to know more specifics (if only a few random segmented details) about the cause of this man's heartache and how exactly he felt about said situation so that i could come to sympathize more with him... sincerely, jerome Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will |
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encounter New Member
since 2000-02-02
Posts 4 |
beautiful descriptions. the picture of sadness and loss is quite vivid and seemingly heartfelt. keep them coming. |
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