Full of Grace

Twenty one years ago this month my lovely mother, suitably named Grace, died at age 94. On the 4th of July, actually. I pretend the fireworks are celebrating her.

Mom wasn’t fond of having her photo taken, but occasionally she indulged me. It didn’t help that in those days I was shooting with a medium format film camera mounted on a hefty tripod. I used a one-light umbrella kit to ensure a soft, diffused look. Setting up was an ordeal, to be sure. The prep time made her more anxious, and any sense of spontaneity was thwarted.

I’d been wanting to photograph her in the bedroom, where a few precious artifacts spoke volumes about her religious nature. I doubt she had any idea that I positioned her such that they were crucial elements of the image. That statue of Our Lady of Fatima had been atop the china cupboard in our dining room where I grew up. It was one of many Mary likenesses throughout the house, and she was the most exquisite. 

Once the equipment was set up she sat dutifully, wearing an elegant set of pajamas chosen for the occasion.

POP POP POP

The shutter and lights captured a tilt of her head here, another tilt there. Big awkward smile, small awkward smile. 

Egads, it was boring. It didn’t help that Dad, who adored her, stood behind me coaching her in a way he felt he should. Although it touched me deeply to hear him say “Oh Gracie, you’re so beautiful, look at me, smile, there’s that smile…” I could see that the images didn’t reflect her playful, feisty self. In reality, she was not that compliant little lady sitting on the edge of her bed. 

Clearly, I wasn’t going to capture the essence of Mom this time around. Frustrated, feeling as though I had wasted everyone’s time, I relented. “OK Mom, we’re done.”

I spoke cheerily, making sure she couldn’t read my mood. She jumped up, instantly regained her character, and shouted “Thank GOD!!!” 

This photograph was that moment. One last POP, the last exposure on the roll, the Hail Mary.