After breakfast one morning, I pulled out my laptop and opened a folder of photos I stole from my dad’s computer.
There’s snapshots of her from the Inquirer–interviewing Burt Lancaster, working late nights, competing in a beauty pageant when she was in highschool.
She’s 1. Amazed that I can have photos on my computer.
2. A bit miffed that I’m keeping her from returning her phone calls.
3. A bit confused. She doesn’t see too well and asks me “Jenny, is that you when you were little, or is that the dog?”
Mostly, she seems proud to share a bit of her life with me. Proud to prove in pictures that she was once young and strong and beautiful; that she had good friends and an exciting career and all kinds of adventures.
My favorite memories from that little conversation were when the keeping-me-away-from-my-phone call frustration was momentarily broken by a sigh and an “Oh my–where did you find that? I haven’t seen this photo since….”
She’s been doing a lot of reflecting lately. Over her life, how she lived it, if she lived it well. Last days inspire those questions; questions that are currently challenging my next-days.
I think I’ll be blessed to live one half as full.