A few weeks ago I noticed a little handprint and knew it belonged to either Henry or Oskar.
Why would I want to record this forever? Because everytime I see it I think of my grandmother. she had a son, Junior (Richard James Holman, Jr.) who died at 18 month when he didn't stay on the porch as he was supposed to, waiting for my mom to get changed from school. He wandered down to the cistern and apparently a bum had wandered through in the night, removed the top perhaps for a bath, a wash, a drink, and didn't return the lid to the locked position.
I know I've told this story before but I tell it again. My grandmother who had rheumatic fever as a child, never in good health, discovered where Junior was, called out for help and held a burly man by his belt and lowered him down to grab the now deceased son. That was hard. Very hard. To have a child by the man of your dreams and then to lose that child.
Tis a sad story and one that always grips my heart when I tell it. Or think on it. But Junior so loved his big sister, Giddis! When we had to disconnect my mom from the life support system, I had the overpowering sense that Junior was there, waiting for her. I remember pushing the nurse and everyone else aside to whisper to mom, "Junior is here. He's waiting for you."
She didn't die that day but the day she did finally pass was quite a day. Bells would continually go off in her room, on her bed, with the call button. Each time the hospice nurses would come in and there'd be no change. In the early evening I told a nurse this story of Junior and how I felt he was here, urging my mom on and the nurse said that everyone at the desk had said the same thing all the day long. That someone was waiting, rather impatiently, for Gladys. I can only imagine that reunion.
So I needed that snapshot of the handprint, no matter how hard it is to see. I'm going to get one of two women photogs I know to come and snap it again. So the window will remain smudged a little longer.