Fleeting
The stones, the blinding light of late-afternoon sun in summer, deep shade, a Sunday, surely a Sunday.
The dresses, the pin-curled hair, pigtails, the distant sound of bird song, a voice calling for someone, footsteps on gravel.
Three more brothers in the years to come. But, on this day, four sisters and a gravestone for one son.
The loss, still raw. The house, still quiet.
On another summer day faraway, their mother will tell one daughter that the boy would peek over her crib to make her laugh. She will say it was his favorite thing to do.
It will be the first thing she will ever say to the daughter about her brother.
It will be the last thing, too.
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Between Land and Sky 
Strange how so much is spoken of in a few words. Eddie’s death stayed with me for many years. It is one of the markers that I look for when I return to other places, other times.
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I didn’t expect to go there with this photo when I started writing. It just seems very quiet and serious. I can’t tell where this was taken.
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Oh Julia, that really had impact. I do love old photos as each has its stories. However, your story grabbed me quite hard. Yes, years ago, I buried a daughter and that loss impacted each of us in our own way.
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Thank you. You are always so kind to comment. It’s different today, I suppose. But no one ever talked about my brother.
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Lovely, lets keep those memories alive. Thanks for the pingback.
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Glad to!
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So sad. The Navaho people say that their stories will last until no longer moist with the breath of the storyteller. It is that way with people–we need to tell their stories to keep their memories alive. Thank you so much for this powerful reminder.
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Photos help shape those memories as you well know as you well know. Thank you.
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Your caption says it all on this photo. LOVE the age in it….its gorgeous
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Thank you. This photo always caught my attention because of the deep shadows.
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