Sunday, May 12, 2013
When I think of Laura’s passing, the words that ring in my head are Karen’s: “I’m so glad we took those pictures at Christmas.� I know the pictures she is talking about, big, warm group shots of the family, huddled in our dining room after a typically abundant and lavish holiday dinner put together by Chuck and his mother, everyone stuffed, warm with body heat, wine and drink, and Karen dictating the staging of several group shots with her ipad—a whole family shot, then girls only, then boys only... The lightening wasn’t ideal on that winter evening, but the connection to the memory of the day could not be diminished by shadow or a couple of blurry shots. How could we have known at the time that those were the last Christmas pictures with Laura, how very special and meaningful they would be, as we complained playfully about moving our seats and positions to fit everyone in the shot.
It’s funny what memories burrow themselves into our minds, and what slips away without notice. The clarity of those moments that stay is a clarity itself strengthened every time we think of them. I remember reading about what memories were, what scientists and neurologists could make of them. It was assumed that memories were like banks in our minds or computer memories—an actual location in the brain were memories go and are simply accessed when we think of them. But they discovered that memories are new thoughts every time we think of them, created anew, and the more often we think of them, the stronger they remain. It is as if it truly is the spirit of our loved ones that live in our minds, hearts and souls, who carry their own identities and share them with us. And when our brains are in sync, memories flood our senses, synapses connect in our brains and they are created again for us, in us.
It makes me smile to remember pictures and Laura—Laura who always had her camera, always wanted shots of everyone and everything. I remembered she took a picture of the club house sign at our PA community every year at the Forth of July picnic, and Uncle Jack would tease her, as he always did, that it was the same sign as last year and she already had how many shots of it? When I think of Laura and all those pictures I think of her capturing memories, as many as she could, to freeze them and keep them—she wasn’t taking pictures of things, she was taking them of moments, of joy and family and love, to keep them for all of us.
With so much love,
Erin SanClementi, and Chuck, Rosa and Gena
