Remembering a Mother

When I was growing up, I had the joy of being close friends with a girl, (let's call her Sarah) who was beautiful, smart, and artistically talented. What made Sarah truly special were not these assets, but the fact that she remained an honest, caring person in spite of them. While Sarah may sound like a unique combination, she was not unique in her house. She had sisters who were equally gifted, as well as great parents.

Sarah's mother was a warm and inviting person. Although their house was not the largest in the neighborhood, it was the one where everyone hung out. Her mother made all the kids feel welcome and always made sure there was something for everyone to do. No one was ever left out at their house. However, her talent didn't stop with warmth and friendliness; she was artistic and creative as well. The best art projects always came from their house. I remember at one birthday party, each guest was sent home with a personalized seashell. (I treasured that seashell on my dresser for many years.)

What I didn't know back then was that Sarah's mom was also making scrapbooks. They were the old style with big off-white pages and photo corners. They contained all the important photos of the girls' childhood combined with hand-written journaling and doodling. The preserving of memories came naturally to her and her artistic talent helped in a time when there were not very many scrapbook products available.

I remember the last time I saw Sarah's mom. We had just bought our first house and we were throwing a 40^th anniversary party for my parents. Sarah's mom had some rare form of cancer and was actually quite sick (although it was not obvious to those who didn't know) but she came anyway. Being her typical self she said all sorts of great things about my house and then asked to see my wedding album. I didn't have my professional album back yet, so I showed her the album I had made of photos my friends had taken. It was one of those magnetic types of albums and the pages had already started to yellow. Sarah's mom gave me a friendly lecture about photo preservation and told me to move those photos before it was too late. I didn't realize it at the time, but this was my first scrapbooking lesson. I also didn't realize at the time that this was one of her last "good days."

Four months later, the cancer overcame her and she died at home, surrounded by her husband, daughters, and grandchildren. My sister and I attended the memorial service, which was standing room only. So many people from our childhood neighborhood traveled to say good-bye to this extraordinary woman. There were similar numbers of people from other periods in her life. At the service, displayed prominently were the scrapbooks she had made for her daughters. In addition to the moving speeches that each daughter gave, they had felt that the scrapbooks were the most fitting way to honor and remember their mother. Between the speeches, the crowds, and the scrapbooks, there was not a dry eye in the room.

Next time you feel frustrated that the quality of your pages doesn't measure up to your expectations or that no one in your family seems interested in them, just remember this story. The most important things about your scrapbooks are the love and memories you put into them.

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