The box beneath Mother’s bed . . .
As Hurricane Dorian made its way northward along our eastern shores, I was reminded that many of my earliest steps took me to the sea and fed my fascination with its swells. Indeed, had the Master not intervened, I would almost surely have followed in my father’s footsteps as a career naval officer. That said, over seven decades later, I’m still drawn to the shore; for to look at the ocean is to be humbled by its power, awed by its vastness and seduced by its mystery.
This photograph is one of hundreds found in the box beneath Mother’s bed. Each captures the image of someone dear, most now long gone but still holding a place in her heart. Some are the faces of those I, too, held dear; others are known to me only through my mother’s memories.
Scattered throughout her collection are various pictures of special moments in my life. Looking back, I recognize in each snapshot a chapter-ending page, the onset of a new venture so dramatically different as to eclipse the old while simultaneously building upon it.
Mother is now ninety-eight; and the moments we share looking at treasures retrieved from the box beneath her bed fuel many a joyful jaunt down memory lane for both of us. We are realists, she and I; we know we cannot relive the past . . . but we sure cherish revisiting it now and then!
