dianaschnuth

I got this out of the treasure trove envelope of photos my Mom dropped off at my house this summer. I’m still sorting through them, and I find a new gem every time I look inside. Every picture of my late Memaw is a gem to me. Same with all the pictures of me with my beaming little-girl smile — I was always happy. There was no reason not to be.

Judging from the other Christmas photos that were taken at our apartment on Birch Hill Drive, this is likely 1981, and I am five years old here. (Could be ’82, though — no one wrote on the backs of these photos.) It seems that I got my gumball machine bank, crow puppet, Raggedy Ann, another doll, and Potzee Bear for Christmas that year.

Potzee Bear, by the way, is still alive and well and sitting in the rocking chair in our living room as I write this.

I see these old pictures and the details trigger so many vague but vivid memories. I remember the tinkly sound the ornaments used to make — they were pastel colored and their texture reminds me now of sea salt. I remember my Uncle Donnie, who was a carny and only made it home for holidays, sleeping on that couch. I remember that purple nightgown of Memaw’s, and how it felt all silky smooth when we’d curl up together to watch TV in the evenings before bed.

I was a very happy little kid.

When I pulled this photograph out of the big envelope bursting with memories, and looked at it closely, the first thing I did was text my Mom.

I’d heard the story so many times, but I never had an actual image to put with it.

As the story goes, Mom and I were living in a trailer in Florida with my Memaw and Papaw. Two-year-old me was standing in the yard, barefoot as usual, crying, “Boo-boo! Boo-boo!” Memaw came to see what the problem was, and discovered fire ants climbing up my legs. I was apparently standing on an anthill with fire ants climbing up me and biting me, and I didn’t know what to do but tell someone that I had a boo-boo.

Memaw thought fast — she picked me up and dunked me in the wringer-washer!

That wringer-washer. Right there.

…

Looking through these pictures, seeing myself at my son’s age, has really made me miss my Memaw in a new and poignant way that I never have before. She really was my second parent for most of my childhood.

It’s hard to articulate exactly how I feel. On one hand, I miss her and I wish I could talk to her again and share with her all the stuff that her great-grandbaby is doing, and ask her if I was like that, and ask how her son was different from her daughters at this age, all those kinds of new-common-ground questions.

On the other hand, it makes me feel very… Zen. Others have felt like this, and others who come after me will feel like this, and it makes me part of the human condition to be recognizing how I fit into this whole big hippy-dippy circle of life, where grandparents and great-grandparents are missed and we share their legacy with our children and hope something sticks.

I sang Memaw’s lullaby for me to Connor last week without losing it — and without changing any words to make it Connor’s song. I told Connor that it’s a song that Grammy and Memaw used to sing to Mommy when she was little.

He seemed to understand.

He asks for it every night now.

I miss you, Memaw.