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she would move into a nursing home in the suburbs and the house
would be prepared for sale. I grasped her hand and looked up into
her sad, tired eyes.
‘I’ll still come visit you,’ I said.
My grandmother slowly nodded her head in assent but remained
silent. Her eyes turned away from mine and began scanning the
length of the roomas she let out a deep shuddering sigh of exhaustion
that racked her small frame. Her sorrow at leaving was evident, and
I gently squeezed her hand in comfort as though I understood, even
though I wasn’t sure that I did.
Seizing my moment, I lightly dashed back down the hallway to
retrieve my bag, pulling out a large photo album as I returned and
crouching at my grandmother’s side. I dragged a small coffee table
across the room and laid out the album, displaying it in front of her
like a prize.
‘
Ti eínai aftó?
’ My grandmother’s face took on a puzzled expression
and she strained forward in her chair.
‘It’s a photo album, yiayia.
Fotografíes
.’ In reality, it was really more
of a scrapbook. I had become something of an amateur photographer
over the past few years and naturally took it upon myself to record
every memorable family event – leaving me with an extensive
collection of photos. I had begun compiling them over the summer
initially as a memory album for myself, but after a few weeks I found
that the focus had naturally shifted. I became more interested in
tracking the life of my grandmother as opposed to my own. I only
had photos from the past few years in my collection, and so I had
gathered up older photographs from various members of my
extended family until I had a sufficient chronological recollection of
my grandmother’s life.
‘A picture paints a thousand words,’ my grandmother replied, as
she smiled indulgently up at me and released a short laugh.
The photos I had compiled ranged almost the entire length of
what I knew of my grandmother’s lifespan: her arrival in Australia, her
wedding with my grandfather, family photos of her with my mother
and her siblings, me and my siblings, my cousins, her great-grandson.
I was secretly chuffed with myself for my dedication and the time I
had spent preparing this album and proudly opened the cover to the
first page, waiting expectantly for my grandmother’s reaction.
The first photograph was of my grandmother and her two
Love And
Memory
12