The Face on the Wall
When I was very little, my parents would make a cross-country trip to see my grandparents in Mexico. It was a 3 day trip, partly because my mother didn't drive and partly because many of the interstates weren't finished--or started.
The trip was a huge event for me. I loved my grandma and couldn't wait to see her. But there was one other lady I wanted to see. From my earliest recollections, there was a painting of a fragile-looking woman with light brown hair and blue eyes. She was my great grandmother.
I would stare at the painting sometimes all afternoon, wishing the lady in the picture would speak to me. I had a million questions.
My grandmother noticed my fascination (grandmas by nature are very smart and particularly observant). She'd tell me little stories about my great grandmother. She was from Spain, and yes, there was a big population of blonde-haired and blue-eyed Spaniards. (Obviously that gene skipped me completely.)
For such a tiny and frail woman, she seemed to have tremendous fortitude. In the 1870s, she left her home and sailed for Mexico with her new husband, never to see her own family again. Through this delicate little woman sprung an enormous new clan.
Every time I visited I'd pay my respects to my great grandmother. Her portrait always hung in a place of honor.
Over the years, I visited less and less, and finally not again until I was an adult with a new husband of my own. Once again, I looked for that painting. I asked my grandmother if she'd let me be the painting's guardian after she was gone. It was all but secured.
But when my grandma passed away, I forgot about the painting until many months later when I grew nostalgic. My mother made inquiries among the relatives but no one seemed to know its whereabouts. I was heartbroken.
Undaunted, my mom went for an extended visit to continue her sleuthing. The painting had been scoffed up by some of her second cousins. With no will, I had no right to it. At this point I even offered to buy the painting because it was so important to me.
The second cousins, suspicious now that it might be valuable, refused me outright. I never saw or heard about the painting's whereabouts again.
I hope someone is taking care of my great grandmother, but somehow I doubt it. All I wanted was to keep some token of her memory in safekeeping until it was my time to pass it on.
That delicate face haunts me to this very day.
Is there anything that haunts your memories?
The trip was a huge event for me. I loved my grandma and couldn't wait to see her. But there was one other lady I wanted to see. From my earliest recollections, there was a painting of a fragile-looking woman with light brown hair and blue eyes. She was my great grandmother.
I would stare at the painting sometimes all afternoon, wishing the lady in the picture would speak to me. I had a million questions.
My grandmother noticed my fascination (grandmas by nature are very smart and particularly observant). She'd tell me little stories about my great grandmother. She was from Spain, and yes, there was a big population of blonde-haired and blue-eyed Spaniards. (Obviously that gene skipped me completely.)
For such a tiny and frail woman, she seemed to have tremendous fortitude. In the 1870s, she left her home and sailed for Mexico with her new husband, never to see her own family again. Through this delicate little woman sprung an enormous new clan.
Every time I visited I'd pay my respects to my great grandmother. Her portrait always hung in a place of honor.
Over the years, I visited less and less, and finally not again until I was an adult with a new husband of my own. Once again, I looked for that painting. I asked my grandmother if she'd let me be the painting's guardian after she was gone. It was all but secured.
But when my grandma passed away, I forgot about the painting until many months later when I grew nostalgic. My mother made inquiries among the relatives but no one seemed to know its whereabouts. I was heartbroken.
Undaunted, my mom went for an extended visit to continue her sleuthing. The painting had been scoffed up by some of her second cousins. With no will, I had no right to it. At this point I even offered to buy the painting because it was so important to me.
The second cousins, suspicious now that it might be valuable, refused me outright. I never saw or heard about the painting's whereabouts again.
I hope someone is taking care of my great grandmother, but somehow I doubt it. All I wanted was to keep some token of her memory in safekeeping until it was my time to pass it on.
That delicate face haunts me to this very day.
Is there anything that haunts your memories?
Comments
Mine was a diaper pin my Aunt Elsie gave my mother when I was born. I used it one night to hold my coat together and I lost it. I searched high and low and never found it and it still destroys me to this day.
I do hope someday you find that painting. As an artist, is there any way you could recreat it?
One of my aunts went back to see if she could take a photograph of the painting, but the second cousins wouldn't let her in the door, saying they had sent the painting elsewhere.
It was really sad.
Sad to hear you weren't able to have the painting. I'm always amazed by the hardships and heartbreaks our grandparents and great grandparents endured.
I wish your story ended happier Maria, it is hard when family members are so hard to deal with and you are right that was a precious heirloom!
But you have a marvelous memory.
I never had any contact with the extended family. From either side. Know nothing about them.
I miss that.
But her memory lives on!
To this day she never learned to drive. Now, of course, she's too old. :)
Re: dividing the goods
That's the way of it whenever family dies. People swoop in like vultures, even people you'd never expect to do such things. Me, I wait for the dust to settle.
My mom gave me a solid gold bracelet years ago because she knew with me living so far away, it might disappear before her body got cold. :)
In essence the dogs will inherit, and the caretakers will be the beneficiaries.
I'll bet your mother was upset. It's very disarming to be robbed. It makes you feel vulnerable.
It was just an old painting, probably painted when she was just a young woman. I don't know if it was high quality or not but to me it was priceless because of all the good memories it gave me.
Grandparents are priceless.
My grandmother had this picture on her wall of a hawk that had another bird clutched in its talons. The thing used to give me nightmares as a kid.
Years ago, when I was a nanny, I worked for a Jewish family. Grandma and Grandpa survived the camps. I can't remember now what the object was, but Grandma's childhood home was of course looted by the Nazis and this object taken. Years after resettling in America she was haunted by this loss. Of everything, she had to find this one thing. After she had exhausted all avenues to her, including a rather expense historical PI, she had to give up. It was lost to time. About ten years her telling me the story, a survivor foundation found some documentation which lead her to this family heirloom. She had no proof it was hers so it still hangs in a museum. But it was found. She knows it's safe and cared for and she can view it anytime.
That china wasn't particularly expensive or valuable but I was devastated. I still serve our Thanksgiving turkey on that platter.
I don't have anything I truly regret losing like that, though I've lost plenty of objects in my lifetime. I guess I regret more the things I left unsaid to people who aren't with us anymore.
My sister is the real historian in the family. I'm just her sidekick. :)