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Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Folded out of the picture

When I was small, maybe two years old, my Mother took a picture of my Dad's parents. They were standing together, and I somehow got in the frame, on the bottom. I was wearing an Easter bonnet, or some such little girl hat, so I suspect it was a holiday. Shortly afterwards, my Grandfather died, suddenly, of some heart problem. My Mom gave the photo to my Grandmother, who framed it. I was folded out.

For the next 44 years, that picture sat in my Grandmother's living room. It was always there, and I knew that my little girl face was hidden in the folds. Okay, so then she died. Who knows, who got that picture. Who really cares about that little girl, who ever she was. Did they take the photo out of the frame? Did they cut me out? It really doesn't matter, to anyone but me.

I was folded out, cast away, put aside. I guess I just feel like that was a theme, somehow, for my future. Just jane in the background. Just a person of little significance, who does nothing to make a place, for herself. Boohoo, cry me a river! What ever, I know.

The reality is that it was a special picture. It held a place in my Grandmother's life. I did not, though. I was just another face in the crowd of a large Catholic family. My father divorced my Mother. We were just not considered part of the family anymore. Not really.

 Luckily, my Mother was an only child. We were very special to my maternal Grandparents. I cherish the relationship I had with them. They are gone, now. So is my Mother. All that remains is my Father, and his family. They know little about me, or my life. I am just a name to them, nothing more. I got closer to my Father after my Mother died. But he goes to family functions, alone. Without us. We are never invited to family reunions, or gatherings. I was folded out of the picture, folded out of the family.