The same way we inherit our grandfather’s eyes or our mother’s mannerisms, I wish we could recall memories of our loved ones as they once were … back when they existed without us.
I wish I could remember the first time my mother fell in love or how my grandad felt the day he arrived home from war. I wish I could close my eyes and recall my great grandmother’s childhood home and the way her momma looked in the morning light of their farmhouse kitchen window or the rush of emotions my grandfather felt the day my father was born.
I wish that “family inheritance” consisted not of money or things, but instead, we were gifted our ancestors most treasured memories, their most carefully curated moment – wrapped up just waiting to be untied.
This kind of inheritance anchors us. It offers us some insight into who we are and where we came from. We are by no means defined by them. Our lives are still wholly our own. But, in a way, we are all still conceived a bit by these memories from long ago. These memories helped make us. They are a part of us … poured into the very foundation of our existence.
(The above image is a digital copy of a slide taken in 1953 by my grandfather, Maxie L. Black.
Featuring my grandmother, Betty Lou Black, and aunt, Patricia)
– Mackenzie Free –
Wife, mother, photographer & current resident of the unassumingly magical town of Steele, Alabama
