A few summers before my mother
became so very ill, I’d started the ambitious project of scanning pictures into
our computer to save upon an external hard drive. I began with the pictures
my mother had brought up to San Antonio, which included a hodge-podge from her
childhood, my father’s childhood, and their married lives. She’d given up on
labeling each item, and instead wrote a brief timeline of their life together,
centering upon my father’s various assignments within the military. She devoted
part of each album to each of her children. Grouped over several pages would be
pictures of my sister, my brother, or myself from infancy through our adult
years. I didn’t scan every photograph, but I did do the majority of school
pictures and major events. I placed, on a special shelf in my closet, some
large photographs that would need to be scanned in pieces, reassembled, and
repaired in Photoshop. And then I forgot about all of my aspirations when Mom’s
needs changed and her care became more demanding.
The first weekend of November, I
spent part of the visit to my brother’s house delving into my parents’ closets.
Curiosity enticed me into old boxes and bins, where I discovered my brother’s
baby book and infant shoes along with my grandfather’s passport. Stashed safely
into a weatherproof bin, I uncovered some old photographs that I’d never seen.
I asked my brother if I could take the bin home to scan the contents with the
goal of having it back to him by his visit at Christmas.
Days have a way of slipping by
unnoticed, until I realized last weekend that we hadn’t scanned a single
photograph. And so my husband and I set about organizing and scanning pictures.
David’s a whiz with Photoshop, and he managed to refresh color, repair missing
sections of photographs, or reconstruct missing parts on people’s faces. As our
project continued, I realized just how wonderful it will be to have this at my
fingertips and to make copies for my sister to keep within her own files. We no
longer have to worry about something getting lost in a hurricane because copies
exist in several places.
Anyway, in with all of the pictures
of places we’ve lived and people we’ve loved, I found a small shot of the
saddest Christmas tree. For the 363 TEWS, this little tree symbolized their
lives spent away from their families—all of the anniversaries, birthdays, and
holidays missed. I found myself, after viewing so many of our family pictures,
drawn to this image.
My heart aches for those men of long
ago who longed for their families, homes and traditions. And it breaks to know
that our soldiers continue to serve “the longest year” in distant lands. My
imagination runs to another daughter skimming through family photographs and
pausing when she comes upon another sad Christmas tree in a barracks.
"Nam Christmas Tree"
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
