Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!
Keeping the light on for you,
Carol
A toddler grins precociously from the faded sepia-tone shore along with her doting older siblings in period swimming costumes. The Atlantic City Boardwalk of the Roaring Twenties springs to life from these otherwise still shots. Carefree smiles captured for perpetuity coax me to join them in the sand.
These old photos offering what appears to be my mother’s mischievous smile are really that of her next oldest kin, my Aunt Betty Arlene, bearing uncanny identical resemblance.
My maternal grandfather owned, assembled, and managed a large wooden roller rink in this iconic American playground. Summer residence on this Jersey coast provided happiness, sunshine, and financial success; it would also come to represent a very dark chapter in our family history.
At the age of two and a half, Aunt Betty fell to her death when a screen gave way from a fourth story apartment window. As youngsters do while playing, she had quickly and stealthily climbed the sill in the few seconds a watchful eye momentarily turned away. Yellowed press clippings described her as a “sleeping doll:” a single bruise over one eye being the only tragic clue. Immediate bystander and hospital efforts at the time sadly failed to provide a viable outcome.
My grandmother fainted when told of her daughter’s passing, the magnitude of grief too much to bear. Another sibling would eventually go to her grave harboring the terror of a failed attempt to grab and prevent little Betty’s demise as she too almost met her Maker at a young age.
My stoic Victorian grandparents soldiered on, continuing to support their grieving brood. I remember this Grandma and Grandpa as quiet, solemn, and mysterious. Now, as an adult and parent, I understand why: The trepidation they must have felt would have been crushing for most parents.
But they were brave enough to conceive again and, in 1929, along came my mom – Betty’s doppelganger in both looks and temperament. Aside from sharing identical physical attributes, Mom was quite a childhood imp, and according to early lore, Betty was too. I cannot help but wonder if this was a secret soul transfer by a higher power granting Betty a second chance at a mortal life.
Betty Arlene’s memory has not faded like the newspaper clippings. The diminutive high button boots she wore that last day have been reverently displayed for years along with other ancestral mementos. Bequeathed to me from my mother, Betty’s petite footwear is a testimonial to a sweet child’s curious, spirited existence. They are also a reminder of the fragility of life and a parent’s worst nightmare.
Some may question why I would hold onto, much less display, such a bittersweet keepsake. Betty is part of our family heritage and deserves to be recognized. A deeper explanation explores the boundaries of mortality. Betty’s spirit has lived on vibrantly through the collaborative storytelling of her brother and sisters, and the small boots whisper her ongoing presence and importance. As important, Betty’s untimely passing offers a moment for contemplation. If in fact we are all here for but a handful of days, what is the true measure of our existence?
Gazing at pictures and gently touching her only wardrobe reminder, I am grateful to be the next generation celebrating her identity. It is my hope that my daughters will someday welcome Betty’s tale and accoutrements into their home, continuing to honor her story and her short, vibrant life. If anyone could ever truly grasp the gravity of life being too brief, perhaps it would be Aunt Betty. I choose to think this fluttering cherub with chubby cheeks and a coquettish grin continues to spread her charm and curiosity.
Personal accounts of the Afterlife speak of beautiful journeys. It is my hope that she has made up for lost time. And should they be needed, her traveling shoes remain ready and waiting.
Beautiful story! My heart aches for your Grandparents.
Thank you Trish!
You are blessed to have those little shoes of Betty’s to trigger memories of her short life.
Thank you Sue – I agree!
Beautiful!
The Park family spoke little of Betty, even in later years. But you are correct-it was such a tragic and horrific accident that it seems everyone compartmentalized the occurrence for life. As parents, the pain of the death of a child is beyond comprehension.
Cliff
Right?! I can’t even imagine.
Your writing is such a wow. Your photography skills as well. Your decorating vignettes, so real, so lovely, so intimate and personal and gorgeous, like your essays. YOU are a treasure, my dear. (It may be tacky, but I want that quilt in the backdrop. 🙂 xo
Many thanks, Kelly! The quilt is one I made for my parents years ago. Glad you like it!
Carol, I love this piece, loved sharing what we both had been told about our Aunt Betty and her tragic death, and I am so thankful that your Mother, and now you, have kept her memory real and vibrant. She is not just a family story, due to you two. It was probably too painful for the others of that generation to speak of it very often.
I think my Mom or yours had told me of the close resemblence and mannerisms of the two girls, but I had forgotten. I’m sure that helped our grandparents to cope with the loss and to live anew.
I wish I would have asked your Mom how all this affected her upbringing. She probably shared some of that with you.
Thank you again for sharing Betty’s important life with my family and me, through your gift of writing.
Thank you, Linda! It was my honor to pen the story and I’m so glad you liked it!