A Not Special Day
How a not special day can suddenly become extraordinarily special
It wasn’t a special day. Larry and I and our daughter Sarah’s family were in New York to visit Nanny and Poppy and were at Adventureland on Route 110 in Farmingdale. It was warm, sunny, and humid — a typical New York summer day. Nothing special.
While the boys went on the rides, Nanny and Poppy sat under a tree relaxing and keeping cool, watching everyone else have a good time. They didn’t get up off their bench, probably afraid that if they walked with the kids, they’d lose their seats when they needed to sit again. And, with Mommy’s neuropathy and Daddy’s COPD, walking and standing were really too difficult anyway. So, Sarah, Larry, and I followed the boys and stopped back periodically to sit with Nanny and Poppy or to bring them a cold drink. It was a relaxing and fun day, but not a special day.
Daddy always brought his camera along when we went out so that he could memorialize each and every outing, event, and occasion. We always had pictures, but rarely with Daddy in them, so we decided that today we would take a photo of Nanny and Poppy with the beautiful pink-flowering trees in the background.
Daddy was dressed in his usual uniform — a plaid shirt and baseball cap (today his red Indiana University cap from Carolyn). My fashionista mother was all made up in foundation, blush, lipstick, and mascara, wearing a blue tee-shirt and gold hoop earrings. It was Friday, and it wasn’t until the next day that she was going to the beauty shop for her styling, so her hair wasn’t the big bouffant that had gone out of style years before but which so defined her look. Her red hair was still teased and as poufy as she could get it three days after her recomb. Neither looked particularly special on this not special day.
We all had a wonderful time, going into the cafeteria for Nathan’s hotdogs and french fries when everyone got hungry following a long afternoon of playing on the rides. Then we went back to Nanny and Poppy’s house to rest up. Well, at least the adults rested! We all had fun, but nothing special.
The next day Daddy went to the drug store to get the film developed so everyone could get a copy of the picture of Mommy and Daddy to take home. It was a lovely photo to commemorate the day together.
We left New York a few days later, planning our next trip out during winter break, when our son David’s family could join us for the holidays with my brother and his family. But three days before we were to leave for New York in December, Peter called to tell me that Mommy had fallen, hit her head, and was in a coma. We’d better get home to see her before they took her off life support.
The photo has become my most cherished picture of my parents — the last one I have of them together and the last one I have of my mother. It reminds me of that most special day.
