Family time was spent sorting photos

My brothers came for a visit on Sunday. The younger one, David, and his wife, Apryl, unloaded several totes full of pictures they had been storing since Mom died. My other brother, Michael, and his wife, Diane, joined in as we went through the boxes.

The easiest to sort were the ones of our children. There were dozens upon dozens of pictures of my daughter and her kids. Most of those went in my pile except for the ones David kept for bribery. Anything featuring trains or his kids went to Michael. Pictures of David’s son were returned to him.

 We laughed at each other’s outdated hair styles and wondered at how skinny we were way back when. Some pictures went directly to the wives so they could see how dorky their husbands looked once upon a time.

I separated out photos to be sent to various cousins or other relatives. The piles grew larger and finally toppled, mixing up my careful system.

David said he wanted a copy of the print of the pink house that used to belong to our grandmother. We soon realized that we didn’t have any photos of the little house where they grew up. One of the brothers remembered a newspaper article that had been written about that house way back when it began its life as a toll booth. We haven’t gotten to the bottom of all the boxes so the possibility of a picture still exists.

The most difficult to sort were the old pictures. Lots of them had no identification anywhere on them. It wasn’t long before one infant in a long dress began to look like all the other pictures of infants in similar outfits.

There is one print of a girl in a pony cart. It is labeled 1927. I have no idea who she is. It can’t be Mom as she wasn’t born until 1928. It is too good a picture to throw away.

Some pictures are labeled, “A family friend.” These were tossed along with all the pictures of sheep, cows and cats. The flower pictures didn’t get saved either.

This left us with a huge assortment of unidentifiable people. I was kicking myself for not going through these when Mom was alive. I wished I could go back in time and hear the stories behind all these people I don’t know, standing in front of houses I’ve never seen before.

Several times in the last few years before she died, Mom and I went through boxes of ancient photographs. I labeled the ones she remembered. Even then, her memory wasn’t what it once was. People she recognized one time were a mystery the next. After these sessions I would always go home and write names and dates on any photographs I could find.

 I think of all the images on paper and online. So many lives. So many loved ones reduced to a memory. The only way we knew they once were important to our loved ones is through the curled and faded photographs someone once saved. They are tucked into boxes and hidden away in drawers or on shelves. Bits and pieces of our lives, the tangible evidence of our existence is reduced to squares  of paper sheltered from the harsh light of reality.

 The afternoon flew by as we shared stories and remembered days gone by. David and Apryl left first. Michael and Diane walked through the yard, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs before the long drive home.

The piles of prints left behind await further sorting and labeling. It was a good day, spent with those I love. I just hope that David and Apryl don’t have any more totes full of pictures that need to be sorted.