I’m working on this project, to reconstruct my mother’s life… it is very daunting, overwhelming, interesting, exciting, frustrating and fun. And it makes me cry sometimes.
I’ve been searching through the one high school yearbook that survived family moves across country (hers and ours) and deaths (hers, her mother’s, father’s, sister’s) There is no family home to go back to. No family to go back to. They are all gone.
The items left are in a box that mostly lives in my garage, but has been visiting the living room floor where I periodically sit and open it, pulling things out to examine them. Its funny what’s left of her life. Of course there is my sister and me, and her jewelry, and the tutu doll from Hawaii that we made together, some mementos from her travels in Europe… and of course our family photos and memories. But the questions that tickles my brain, who was she. As a person.
Maybe I’ll never know, but I’ve begun the journey to discover not only her past, but maybe mine as well….