Dad and Mum with one of their race horses. Circa 1954.
These last few days I've been at my mother's small apartment, going through photos and other belongings...all her little treasures.
Even the most mundane of things, an address book, held hidden glimpses into my mother's daily life. With each new discovery, I felt both excitement and sadness. Today is the final moving day.
All her precious items, now boxed and marked, must be moved to someone's house or garage, to be sifted through yet again. My unasked for winter project is now scanning all her photos into my computer so I can burn CD's for all the family. Some I will print out and others will require special care and retouching, like a rare photo of my great grandmother I didn't realize mum had kept safe in one such album.
As I looked through some 50 photo albums and 75 envelope packets of photos, I came to a harsh realization. My mother was the very last of her generation in my family and now my sisters and I are the oldest generation.
I thought of what my mother must have felt as her sisters and brothers passed before her, her husband passing too. And I looked upon my sisters and knew we too would go through the same thing, as each of us passes into shadow and leaves behind the next generation. I can only hope that they will be as proud of the long line they come from as I have been, and that they share more than the physical family traits passed down through the centuries. I hope they also share the magick and the love.
