I visited my grandparents the other day, and when the coffee had been served in decades-old flowered teacups and the pastries set out in a ring around the coffee table, Oma shuffled over with a photo album. She settled next to me on the couch and turned to the first page.
"This is my oldest sister," she said happily, a bejeweled finger resting on a wedding picture. And in the same contented tone: "She died of a heart problem." Her finger slid down to the next photo. "And that is my oldest brother. He died of pneumonia."
My grandmother had sixteen siblings, a corresponding massive extended family and a slew of friends, and their images were tucked into the book in black and white, in faded vintage tones, on thick matte paper and on Polaroid squares. She paged through the album, briefly remarking on each picture. Every observation included the cause of death.
"Her husband died in the doctor's office when he was thirty-nine," she said of her niece. "She had five children." Flip. "My brother was in a sanatorium for TB. He was there for a year. He got better but then he died in a boating accident." Flip. "That is the husband of my sister. He died of a heart attack in 1981."
Half-way through the album, and not one person in the photos was still living. And the strange thing was, Oma kept recounting their relationship to her and how they died in a cheerful, matter-of-fact way. I could smell her sweet old-person breath as she leaned closer to identify a blurred face, and I could tell she was enjoying herself immensely.
I recognized almost no one in the pictures, save my grandparents and some of their siblings, marked by family resemblances: the small, pretty vandenHoven nose and chin; the full Byl cheeks and red hair.
She closed the album and gave it to me. I took the book, heavy and oblong with a faded blue fabric cover, and realized that she had just paged through it for the last time.
"You can throw out the pictures of the people you don't know," she suggested. "You can just keep the pictures that you like."
And so there is an album of dead strangers, of Oma's treasured people, on my desk. One day I'll probably sort and rearrange it, but for now I haven't the heart to disturb those photos' resting place.
Make sure you record the who and how while you have your Oma around to ask. Some day you will flip through the book with your children and grandchildren... and smile the same contented smile as you remember her! What a treasure you've recieved.
PS. Maybe she figured that as a doctor, their cause of death would be of the most interest to you!
Posted by: Tessa | 16 April 2009 at 07:51 AM
oh i needed this today. we just did a mastectomy on a woman who will most certainly die of invasive ductal carcinoma...& i needed to be reminded that ALL of our lives end in death. it is the way we handle it, the way your Oma has lived & loved beyond it, that determines how we LIVE.
...and it was also a nice reminder if why i need to prioritize getting my pictures organized--the photos & words & faces & places & relationships documented...these stories need to be told :)
Posted by: jlyn... | 16 April 2009 at 09:10 AM
oh I hope you don't throw away any of those precious photos!
Posted by: Nina | 16 April 2009 at 09:44 AM
What a wonderful treasure to have.
Posted by: Beverly | 16 April 2009 at 10:42 AM
A very touching post - It's amazing how she told the stories of each one's death with acceptance - "the way it was back then" - what a treasure the album is.
Posted by: JeanMac | 16 April 2009 at 04:44 PM
Your post gave me goosebumps -- what a wonderful piece of history your Oma blessed you with! I will have to go visit my grandmother someday soon and pull out her albums and ask who everyone is... and most definitely to look at photos of my grandfather again.
Grandparents are such a wonderful gift to treasure!!!
Posted by: Chris | 16 April 2009 at 09:53 PM
that reminds me of my oma. she has a large drawer full of pictures of her friends and family from all the places she had to flee to during the war. and of her father, who died on the bismarck.
why would your oma want to give away those pictures? just thinking about my oma parting with her pictures makes me want to cry. you oma actually giving them away is even worse.
Posted by: mercutio | 17 April 2009 at 04:36 PM
This was not a definitive mega-album containing all of my grandparents' pictures. It's one of dozens of volumes. Oma still has a cupboard full of others to page through.
She's in her late eighties and seems to part with a treasure at every visit. I'd rather receive them from her with the stories attached than be bequeathed them with no explanation when she's gone.
Regarding potential reorganizing of the album - there are several sets of doubles, photos of houseplants, pictures faded beyond recognition etc. And I have three sisters among whom I should divide up the spoils.
Posted by: FreshMD | 18 April 2009 at 10:27 AM
I really thought this was going to turn into a post about the importance of knowing your family history :)
Beautiful story... you are so lucky to still have your grandparents around. My grandparents are all long gone... had kids late, and then their kids had kids late. My grandfather would be 115 if he were still alive today.
Posted by: Liana | 19 April 2009 at 12:13 PM
I love your blog...but this one has to be my favourite entry! You have such an amazing way with words Martina!
Your Oma is so cute!
Thanx for the smiles!!
Posted by: Ange | 26 April 2009 at 09:41 PM
This was such a beautiful post--I hope that you'll have time to go through them again with your kids! :)
Posted by: mstpbound | 05 May 2009 at 10:46 AM