Playin' back that 45.
Oct. 21st, 2012 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
captainsblogTwo Sundays ago, I stood in the chancel of my hometown church and told them about my sister Sandy, who died 24 years ago that day. One thing I mentioned, binding her to them, was that she had been married in that very sanctuary.
Which she was, 45 years ago today.
I was seven and the ring bearer. I have no pictures of the ceremony, but I have always saved this portrait of the wedding party, taken, I think, in the very Nassau County park that Nicole started and ended her race in two Sundays ago:
I'm not in that one; I'd been dispatched to Babysitterland before the photo shoot and reception got under way. My only other talisman of the day was from that reception:
As for the rest of that cast of characters, other than the happy couple, and our other sister Donna on Sandy's right, I have only the vaguest memories of who they were. I think that's a Sheila on the bride side of the party; and tall dude to Jean Pierre's left was Peter, or Pierre? By the time I began cementing memories in my preteen years, all those assorted friends were out of their lives, as least as far as I knew. Their later Long Island neighborhoods, and their hospital and brokerage workplaces, brought new ones, a few of whom we'd meet again in 1988 and, even, 2007.
They made it 20 years. Not without some conflict, nor some tense moments when you wondered if they would make it, but they had two girls they adored, parents who needed them, by then, as much as they needed our parents, and a home that did endure.
So we remembered two weeks ago, and again today. Two weeks from now, we'll remember Jean-Pierre's passing, which will be five years this next November 7th. For me, the hardest thing about his passing- which followed a life well lived and a cancer fight well fought- was that his second wife completely purged Sandy from all recollections of his life on those days. Not a picture, not a note, not even a freakin' matchbook. It took us to make sure she was there- and she was. Telling Muriel to go play in traffic:P
Far as we know, she still lives in the house my nieces came of age in. The girls have not been back inside it once in those almost five years, and it pains them greatly to have had those memories stripped from them like so much bad 1970s avocado green wallpaper. Yet, I tell them, it's just a house. Sandy made it a home, just as she still makes ours, and each of theirs, one that will, also, endure.
Which she was, 45 years ago today.
I was seven and the ring bearer. I have no pictures of the ceremony, but I have always saved this portrait of the wedding party, taken, I think, in the very Nassau County park that Nicole started and ended her race in two Sundays ago:
I'm not in that one; I'd been dispatched to Babysitterland before the photo shoot and reception got under way. My only other talisman of the day was from that reception:
As for the rest of that cast of characters, other than the happy couple, and our other sister Donna on Sandy's right, I have only the vaguest memories of who they were. I think that's a Sheila on the bride side of the party; and tall dude to Jean Pierre's left was Peter, or Pierre? By the time I began cementing memories in my preteen years, all those assorted friends were out of their lives, as least as far as I knew. Their later Long Island neighborhoods, and their hospital and brokerage workplaces, brought new ones, a few of whom we'd meet again in 1988 and, even, 2007.
They made it 20 years. Not without some conflict, nor some tense moments when you wondered if they would make it, but they had two girls they adored, parents who needed them, by then, as much as they needed our parents, and a home that did endure.
So we remembered two weeks ago, and again today. Two weeks from now, we'll remember Jean-Pierre's passing, which will be five years this next November 7th. For me, the hardest thing about his passing- which followed a life well lived and a cancer fight well fought- was that his second wife completely purged Sandy from all recollections of his life on those days. Not a picture, not a note, not even a freakin' matchbook. It took us to make sure she was there- and she was. Telling Muriel to go play in traffic:P
Far as we know, she still lives in the house my nieces came of age in. The girls have not been back inside it once in those almost five years, and it pains them greatly to have had those memories stripped from them like so much bad 1970s avocado green wallpaper. Yet, I tell them, it's just a house. Sandy made it a home, just as she still makes ours, and each of theirs, one that will, also, endure.
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no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 11:22 pm (UTC)I think she's just messin' with us;)
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Date: 2012-10-21 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-21 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-22 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-22 02:12 pm (UTC)Anyhoo. Great recollections and thoughts. Well expressed. :)
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Date: 2012-10-23 11:33 pm (UTC)