Chapter 17 - The Mother’s Day Photograph
The photograph finally happened four years late.
Mother’s Day.
My house.
Grant.
Rebecca.
Little Russ.
Me.
Nothing fancy.
No spa.
No carefully coordinated clothes.
Russ had applesauce on his shirt.
Grant’s hair needed cutting.
Rebecca was laughing because the timer kept failing.
I wore a cream blouse.
Not the same one.
That blouse had been ruined by ice water years earlier.
I had thrown it away.
For a long time I regretted that.
Then I realized clothing should not become monuments.
Rebecca propped the phone against a stack of books.
“Ten seconds!”
We crowded together.
Russ tried to escape.
Grant grabbed him.
I laughed.
Click.
The photograph was imperfect.
It became my favorite.
Later Grant sent me a framed copy.
On the back he had written:
Both moms were invited.
I laughed until I cried.
Then I called him.
“You’re terrible.”
“I know.”
“Your father would approve.”
“I know.”
I put the photograph beside Russell’s.
Past and present.
Not competing.
May you like
Simply sharing a shelf.
---
