Blog for An Anniversary

Back yard, Summer, 1961

It was 40 years ago today that you died.  I found your body and I wasn't even sure how I was supposed to feel.  You had been sick for so much of my life, and my life had been so chaotic for the 14 years I had you, that I know I was relieved that you were finally gone.  That the constant crises were over and done with.

1971

Two days later, at your funeral, I wept.  I think that was when I realized that that was it.  That I really needed you and that you weren't around any longer.  

I remember that day as being frigid cold, and that I had had to wear the fake fur coat that you and my father bought me earlier that year.  And Sister Lawrence Joseph holding on to me as I cried, not telling me to be strong, not telling me to be a big girl.

But what I remember most is what I've forgotten.  I can no longer hear your voice - but I know that, at the time of your death, it still had that German accent that I loved.  Far from being ashamed of how different your voice sounded from other people's, I loved that it was unique and set you apart.  I just can't hear it anymore.  

And I know I cannot remember your face without looking at photographs.  As Ringo Starr's song "Photograph" says, "Every time I see your face/It reminds me of the places we used to go./But all I got is a photograph/And I realize you're not coming back anymore"

And I knew that years ago, but I can still hope, can't I?  


I can't wish you a Happy Anniversary of your death - that would be odd.  But I can say that I still miss you and that some day I'll be able to pay real tribute to you in my work.  In the meantime, paying silent tribute to you in an occasional collage will have to do.




love,
linda