The Video Camera


It’s almost too much sometimes.

Interested in whether or not Mom and Dad’s rather vintage video-camera , of which they had taken such great pride in when it was freshly purchased, was still working – I asked my son Ben to plug it in.  The battery pack – naturally (as Mom was so very well organized) was right where it should have been tucked neatly into a side pocket.  Ben plugged the battery into the wall – rewound the film that was inside and hit play.

There he was – Dad – smiling at the dinner table.  Ben and I didn’t get the sound on right away, but we could tell he was interacting with whoever it was filming him.  The camera panned to the mirrors in the dining room – and then back to Dad.

Then, it happened.  The camera moved into the kitchen.  There was Mom.  Cooking.  She was always in the kitchen cooking.  This time, however, not only was she wearing her neck brace, but also her body brace that supported her spine.  It was at this time in her life when she really struggled to walk.  Her spine had disintegrated through loss of calcium to the point where it was literally collapsing on itself.  There she was – cooking.  I remember so well how challenging it was to let her do that.  Any outsider would have scolded me for allowing Mom to cook.  But Mom found meaning and purpose in cooking for her family. To take this away from her would have been to sentence her to death.

BTW:  Shortly after this clip was filmed she received a “cement” injection that filled in her spine and allowed her to walk for several years afterwards without pain.

The movie-maker moved down the hall to capture Mom and Dad’s first care-giver “Rou” in the midst of trying to organize Dad’s bathroom drawers.

This must have been taken at least three years ago.

Oh, how time changes all.

Rou has moved on – and so have Mom and Dad.

How utterly wonderful it was to find this clip – and at the same time how utterly painful.  The images have immobilized me.  I am useless today – other than to express my experiences in this post in the hopes that this experience will help someone else to feel they are not alone.  Or maybe to help me feel that way.

How strange to have been in their home only this morning… no Mom.. no Dad.  And to see them in the same location this afternoon on film.  I don’t know if film is good or bad at this point.  I’m sure that time will offer me a more clear perspective on the truth of the matter – but my brain is fuzzy today – here and now.

What do I do with the camera?  That has pretty much been my rate-limiting-step today.  It has been the window to memories so far.  It has defined itself as quite useful – but disabling at the same time.

The camera will sit in the front room with the collection of other “don’t know what to do with items” until I get further “clarity” of mind.

Mom and Dad’s winter coats… I was able to pack into a bag headed for the Salvation Army today – but the camera will sit in limbo … for a while anyhow.

Really.  Sometimes, it is almost too much.

I know tomorrow is a new day – and if I’m lucky – I’ll see Mom in the sunrise and Dad in the sunset – and my life will be in synchronicity once again.

 

Advertisements
Categories: Life After Dad, Life's Lessons | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Post navigation

8 thoughts on “The Video Camera

  1. Jamie

    I’ll take the camera and the films and transfer them Stacey. We’ll add them to the Super 8 collection and spend an evening watching them and laughing. I don’t envision that happening soon though

    Love
    Jamie

  2. {Hugs}

  3. It is hard. Painfully, searingly hard. You and your family are not alone, please know this. Keep writing and sharing, we’ll be there for you, as we can because we really do care. Every gravatar you see every comment you read are friends. You may not have met us in person but we read each others words and can make just a tiny little difference to brighten a day, as your warm and loving memories of your mom and dad do for us. Share, we do care.

    • Wow. Thanks so much, Penny, for that vote of reassurance. Believe it or not – I do feel a sense of community in this on-line world. Funny how utterly therapeutic blogging can be – it really is a two-way street in that almost more important than the post at times is the feed-back to reassure one they are not “nuts” per se. I will continue to share as I move through this, yeah, I’ll admit even today, painful journey – and trust that others may find comfort in knowing they are not alone in their journey. Again, thank-you for your kind words and support! TTFN

    • Alice

      Yes, what she said.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: