The Treasure

I have very few pictures from when I was growing up in Belgium. I keep them in a small purse I bought in Brugge in 1970, a small shoulder bag with a big butterfly on it, very trendy at the time. I keep it in my closet, and get it out once in a while. I love to smell it, the leather scent I was always so fond of, and I go back in time. I am 13 again and back in Brugge, where I bought the small bag. I open it up to reveal its humble contents: a small amount of pictures from the early seventies. Some Polaroid shots of me and my parents and sisters and brother in Rothenburg, Germany. Some pictures of me in Chicago in 1973, some nicely preserved shots from the Thousand Year Celebration of Brugge we attended as a family in1975. A lone picture of me in Cozumel in curly hair and a new Caribbean blouse, from 1980. Some postcards from my French girlfriend and former graduate school roommate, Catherine. Two New Year's cards from 1991 and 1992 form my recently re-acquainted graduate school friend Driss in Morocco. A black and white picture of our boxer ,Gorki, from 1971. A Christmas picture of my brother and sisters and I in our pajamas on Christmas Eve by the Christmas tree in 1967. A picture of me in Innsbruck, Austria in 1971 also. A picture at my desk in my room in Roeselare, Belgium, a picture my sister Goedele took in1972. I handled the pictures and mementos like they were precious diamonds. I love these pictures. There is also a picture of our family aboard a ferry in Rotterdam, in the pouring rain, a black and white Polaroid shot from 1972. These pictures are to me like pieces of a puzzle, and like the pictures are just fragments , so the puzzle is incomplete, because both my parents are dead, and both my younger sisters are deceased. These pictures are all that is left from some happy days that eventually turned dark and scattered our family apart like leaves in the wind. But, when I look at these pictures in my little purse, I feel only happiness at what once was, and still remains, intact in my heart. I was part once of a family who loved each other. And for those brief, occasional moments when I revisit these few photos, I am right there again, and it feels so good. That is why I always know where my little purse is, both in my closet, and in my heart.