Candy O'Connor's Blog
July 6, 2019
My Father's Eyes
This is my very first post of my very first Blog. I have no great wisdom to impart or advise to offer. Just glimpses of my life.
My Father's Eyes
Like most people, I have dusty bins and overstuffed drawers full of years past of pictures and treasured memories both bitter and sweet. I had two large such bins under my bed of memories - but they were not my memories, they were my mother's.
When she passed years ago, I couldn't bring myself to get rid of her collection of papers and cards and pictures. Locks of my and my brothers baby hair and baby teeth, first report cards, crushed flowers and such, but my New York apartment is small and it's time to make room to store other things.
Looking through them now, I was saddened to see her desperation when my father was dying - knowing she would be left with two small children and no means of support or help. I saw her loneliness, her depression. Sympathy cards from well wishers - offering no real help - just the standard well wishes of "I'll keep you in my prayers" or "I'm sorry for your loss".
But I also found wonderful pictures and memories of my brother's and my childhood. Homemade Halloween costumes (my mother was a skilled seamstress and worked in a tailoring shop before she got married), My brother's earliest drawings (he later won a full scholarship to a design school - thankfully, because we were barely getting by). Pictures of me singing little concerts in church - or anywhere they would let me sing.
Among the memories stored in my mother's bins were these small, wire frame glasses. They weren't my mother's - she had large hazel eyes and excellent vision. My father, on the other hand, had blue eyes (like mine) and was born nearsighted as was I. Well, when I looked through the glasses, I realized we had the same prescription. I truly did inherit my father's eyes.
Thank you for reading this. Make every moment count and treasure the good with the bad.Candy O'Connor
My Father's Eyes
Like most people, I have dusty bins and overstuffed drawers full of years past of pictures and treasured memories both bitter and sweet. I had two large such bins under my bed of memories - but they were not my memories, they were my mother's.
When she passed years ago, I couldn't bring myself to get rid of her collection of papers and cards and pictures. Locks of my and my brothers baby hair and baby teeth, first report cards, crushed flowers and such, but my New York apartment is small and it's time to make room to store other things.
Looking through them now, I was saddened to see her desperation when my father was dying - knowing she would be left with two small children and no means of support or help. I saw her loneliness, her depression. Sympathy cards from well wishers - offering no real help - just the standard well wishes of "I'll keep you in my prayers" or "I'm sorry for your loss".
But I also found wonderful pictures and memories of my brother's and my childhood. Homemade Halloween costumes (my mother was a skilled seamstress and worked in a tailoring shop before she got married), My brother's earliest drawings (he later won a full scholarship to a design school - thankfully, because we were barely getting by). Pictures of me singing little concerts in church - or anywhere they would let me sing.
Among the memories stored in my mother's bins were these small, wire frame glasses. They weren't my mother's - she had large hazel eyes and excellent vision. My father, on the other hand, had blue eyes (like mine) and was born nearsighted as was I. Well, when I looked through the glasses, I realized we had the same prescription. I truly did inherit my father's eyes.
Thank you for reading this. Make every moment count and treasure the good with the bad.Candy O'Connor
