Seasons and Chapters

There’s a box that sits open on top of my printer, filled with old photos from my childhood and young adulthood, snapshots from all of the seasons of my life. Chubby cheeks, crooked teeth, spindly legs, deeply questionable fashion choices, sadly iconic haircuts and yes, a perm. The photos are loose and jumbled together, totally unorganized. They were gathered from various drawers, crates and picture frames when I cleaned out my childhood home after my mother died three years ago. I threw my own photos into one box, and my sister, bless her, sat at a table during a visit and sorted all of the other photos of my siblings and extended family members into boxes and envelopes. What to keep, what to discard, what to pass along? These are the questions every bereaved family member faces, the mountain of memories you are forced to climb in order to move on.

Sometimes when I’m grabbing a document from the printer tray, I’ll stick my hand inside and pull out a random photo. Like a raffle drawing, I never know what I’ll get, which version of myself I’ll uncover. Age 6 or 7 with long blond braids, sitting cross-legged in front of the flowers in my parents tiny front yard. A teenager standing alongside other members of the Veselka (which means rainbow) dance troupe, all dressed in traditional Ukrainian costumes, resplendent in red boots and embroidered blouse, reading from a card. Early 20’s with side swept bangs and long white shorts circa 1992, posed with my Mom, aunt and cousin. This one is particularly poignant. We are standing at a railing (presumably on Liberty or Ellis Island) with the glittering Twin Towers behind us. A sunny summer day, the breeze off New York Harbor blowing our hair, the bright sunshine making us squint. My Mom and her sister look great - middle aged to be sure, both in their early 60’s, a little older than I am today - but hearty and smiling. I wish I could remember where we were exactly, what we did on that touristy visit to New York City (now my home), what we talked about, where we ate.

My Mom and those majestic towers, filled with so many beloved souls, are gone now (two realities that still, all these years later, bring a quick gasp of disbelief). Many seasons have passed since that Summer day.

I recently saw a video of the journalist David Brooks asking some “30,000 feet” questions. If this five year period is a chapter in your life, what’s the chapter about? If we met a year from now, what would we be celebrating? What would you do if you weren’t afraid? What gifts and talents are you not using?

At the start of this Thanksgiving week, as we barrel toward another new year, my chapter is about standing on a precipice: on the verge of an empty next, on the shady side of 55, with untold challenges still to overcome, miles and miles to go (I hope) before I sleep. During this busy holiday season, I’m taking stock and feeling grateful (this is a Thanksgiving post, after all). I’m wondering what my next chapter will be about, hoping that we’ll be celebrating many things a year from now. Perhaps some day my children will find some photos of these days (not loose in a drawer but on a laptop). I hope those photos tell the story of a person who used all her talents and gifts, who was grateful for her tremendous good fortune, who did things even if she was afraid. A person who always made the effort (I’ve told my best friends that I want this to be my epitaph) and faced every new season and chapter with a kindness, resilience and hope.

I’m wishing you a hopeful and happy Thanksgiving.

The sun rising over Shinnecock Bay this morning.