Kodachrome-ing a Moment in Time

Kodachrome - Paul Simon

Kodachrome - the ability to capture a moment and hold on to it long after the moment has passed. It's just not the same with digital images, where most don't bother to print that tangible proof of the time worth capturing. And it's so easy to delete and do over. Or so we think. Perhaps it is because there are no second chances that I find myself occasionally looking over the photographic images with a caressing finger and tear running down my cheek. So many memories. Both good and bad. It may seem unusual for some to document in image form the bad but it happens. A gathering at a funeral, a wrecked car after a mishap, Mother Natures glory before her fury. 

But while Paul Simon thinks back on all the crap he learned in high school I think of one person who left this world too soon and left my life long before I was ready for it. My sister Sandra Sdraulig. Sandra was born on All Saints Day (November 1) one year and 22 days before I came along. She was the oldest, the wisest, the most confident and she seemed so grown up. Our twin beds occupied the same room but her and I had very little in common in our pre-teen years. There were four kids in the family and when we paired off to battle or play, she was never on my team. Sandra would rather rough-house with the boys or talk to the adults then play silly pretend games with barbie dolls and secrets. She was self-assured, confident and well-liked by all. She had a entourage of friends with a few especially close ones. She was talented in sports and excelled at artistic endeavours like ballet, tap and jazz dancing. It seemed that she succeed in all that she tried and I was envious of her abilities that seemed to come so easily. 

Sandra trying to push me into the fountain! Or so I thought

It seems strange sometimes that there was only one year difference between us but she seemed to have accomplished so much. Despite her tom-boyish behaviour she was an accomplished seamstress (clearly inheriting my mom's talent in this area), she had been on a tour of Italy with my grandparents where she perfected the language so as to converse fluently with all the friends and relatives who passed through our door. This brief journey cemented an unbreakable bond between her and our grandfather. Truly the only time I remember him smiling is when they had their arms around each other. The closeness that they shared was a joy to observe. Laughing and smiling together with private jokes only they understood. All cross-generational family relationships should be so special. As an adult I could understand the pain and anguish that he must have felt when she died - like a piece of his heart was ripped away. He never smiled again - not sober anyways. As a kid of 12 when Sandra passed away, all I felt from my grandfather was a resentment that she was gone and I remained. She was a treasure for sure and a crushing blow for him. 

But he wasn't alone in feeling her loss so intently. The Home Economics teacher saw all the fruits of her labour come to a head with the enthusiasm and talent that Sandra possessed in the domestic arts. I followed a year later in the same classroom with none of the zeal and a mountain of resentment that the Catholic education system would not allow me to join the boys in the Industrial Arts room to play with the tools. It was hard being in her shadow and worse when people expected me to rise to her level. She had some pretty big shoes to fill. I didn't come close.

As different as people saw us after she was gone, I saw similarities. We were two young girls trying to find our own place in the world. Fortunately, as she neared her teen years and upcoming high school experience, we suddenly found that in the darkness after family "good nights" were spoken, we leaned over the edge of the beds to whisper secrets of boys, love and life. I was suddenly a person she looked to for companionship and friendship. The gap that separated us was closing and I couldn't have been more thrilled. We had a commonality suddenly - boy crazy. The time of connectivity was short-lived because she was ripped from my heart too. My grandfather may have had her closeness for longer but it hurt me too when she was no more. For many years I walked into our room and saw her empty bed. Many times I wanted to lean across the narrow pathway between the beds and shake her mattress to wake up and talk. 

Dad takes a break from working on the house
to cradle his new babe!

The last day of her life, as we began that fateful car ride Paul Simon began to sing Kodachrome and Sandra remarked that it was her favourite song. I don't know what meaning it held for her if any. Maybe it was just thoughts of bright colours and the greens of summer. But the bright colour that came that night were not nice and she never made to see the summer colours again. I don't remember the last words that she spoke to me. In the dark of the night as my mom guided the car down the divided highway, Sandra occupied the front middle seat. It had been a long day and if us four kids weren't asleep we were dozing off. In the aftermath when the car came to a rest on its roof in the middle of the Grindstone River, the flames were bright and words of fear (from my youngest sister, Linda) and words of encouragement (from my mom) were spoken. But not a word from Sandra. Seat belts weren't used in those days and I always hoped that she had been spared the pain and may have been killed in the initial impact being tossed into the front dash or windshield. I've asked and no one has ever answered. In the end it really doesn't matter how. The knowing doesn't change the outcome, she was gone. My dad's first born and pride of his heart had left to go be with him. 

Sandra models the dress she made herself

She left me to take on the role of oldest in the family and I was ill-equipped to follow in her footsteps and forever remained in her shadow. 

I regret not knowing her better. I regret not having her to turn to in the quiet of the night with the fears faced growing up. I regret not having her by my side and never again knowing what it is like to grow up in a sisterhood. She was an amazing child of 13 when she left the earthly world and she would have been an amazing adult. No doubt! And my life is much emptier not having had her a part of it. When I consider a role model for my life, she is it. She is my big sister!

If I knew that the last time I hugged you it would be the last time, I would never let go. If I knew the last time I saw you smile would be the last time, I would never blink. If I knew the last time I heard you voice would be the last time, I would never want to hear another sound. If I knew the last time I saw you would be the last time I would take pictures til there was no Kodachrome left in the world and hold them in my withering old hands. But I never knew. The times I cried for you can not be calculated, the tears I've shed make Niagara Falls look like a babbling brook. I love and miss you. This lifetime without you has been too long.

Happy Birthday Sandra...see you soon! 

A Cocoon Wrapped Around a Caterpillar

.Tangled Up In You - Staind

It is possible that when the vocalist penned this song, he was indeed thinking of the love for his wife - but for me, the moment that I heard it I thought of a completely different kind of love. The love I feel for my mother, thinking of her, of the love I felt when I was around her, her laughter, her hugs, her smile, her wooden spoon, her tardiness - I feel warmth and comfort. A good mother is like a cocoon wrapped around the caterpillar, while it grows and matures into a fully independent and beautiful butterfly ready to fly on its own. That's what my mother feels like to me. My shield from the dangers of life allowing me to grow.

I had my mother in my life for 12 short and formative years before she was instantly and permanently ripped from my life - but not my heart. We are now pushing on 40 years that she has been gone, and the pain is still real. It never really does go away, you just learn to cope with the loss on a daily basis. But then those special days come around and you feel like your heart is being ripped out again and the tears flow. Tomorrow is Mothers' Day and I want to be with her to hug her, to show her how much she still means to me. I still feel tangled up in her love. She is my world, my light when I am afraid and my thoughts when I need to understand. Some of the maternal witticism that my mother left me with was meant for a child learning to find her place in the structure of a home and family surrounded by love and understanding. Some of it needed to be expanded to fit into the bittersweet trials and tribulations of coping with a world that won't protect you from harm. 

Livia Sdraulig - My Mom!

Mom's Encyclopedia of Knowledge

1. If you have nothing nice to say, then don't say anything at all. These words flowed from her lips often and was directed to one of the four of us but meant for all. It is awesome advise for a child. It prevented harsh words from being spoken between family members and staving off quarrels. But it also prevented gossip that could be hurtful and bullying. We understood that name-calling was not acceptable and we were not to judge others. But somewhere in the process of growing up, we need to learn that we can use our words to protect ourselves even if the words are not appreciated by the listener. 

2. Don't stand with your arms crossed in front of you. Be Proud of who you are - not ashamed. As a pre-teen, this was my favourite stance, especially when I was in a bathing suit or dance leotard. I really had nothing to be ashamed about, I was an average young girl. Unfortunately this advice never stuck for the long-term. I'm sure it was the very day that I returned from the hospital after the accident with scars still healing from the burns, my grandmother handed me a pair of gloves and said I should wear them always because people might not want to look at my scars. Pride left faster than a cheetah on the run - it wasn't just my hands that were scarred - should I don a paper bag over my face as well. Great timing with the popularity of the Unknown Comic - we would have made quite the pair. I was hidden and quite used to being made fun of.

3. Respect isn't just for your elders, all people deserve respect. The only thing I didn't learn was when people no longer people deserved respect - what then? I think that I often gave people the benefit of the doubt long after they abused my good nature. Respect is something that must go both ways, although it could be a struggle, I often over-looked flaws to find some tiny bit of good in people. Guess what - some people really don't have any redeeming qualities that fit into the values of your life. I choose to "write people off", once I have been dis-respected, I feel that people are no longer worth my time. In the case of co-workers or other people I can't eject from my life, I ignore them - speaking only when necessary but not sharing my life. It's a defense mechanism designed to protect myself from further harm. Once bitten, twice shy, twice bitten, you're dead to me. 

Although our time together was short, I got things from my mother other than her maternal wisdom that no one could ever take away from me. It is the very core of who I am, my personality that sets me apart from others, my character that defines me. My mother fostered those qualities in me and loved me unconditionally. The demons that invaded my home and life after her death worked tirelessly to mold me into their ideal. From them I learned that I had to protect myself so I built a wall and hid my true self behind it. The real me has an indomitable spirit and stubbornness combined with fortitude and strength of character. I survived in spite of the obstacles I faced. When Alan Alda as "Hawkeye" on M*A*S*H* uttered the words "Don't let the bastards win", he was referring to death being the victor. When I repeat those same words in my thoughts I am thinking of the people who have tried to bring me down and make me something I am not. I don't like to lose, especially to people who think they are better than others and fake. I have a lot of cause to hate and be angry - my mother taught me that neither of those negative emotions were beneficial to a happy and fulfilling life as they can be consuming and make you a truly ugly person. There are times I am sad and frustrated but those feelings are directed within and prevent you from lashing out at others. Not a bad thing really, but if people cause you too much sadness and futility they must be expelled before they do permanent damage. Yes, the death penalty could come in quite handy here :)

I'll never know the kind of person I could have become with the witticism and knowledge my mother could have shared over a lifetime. So I am tangled in the web of memories that was my mothers love for her young daughter. In the photographs of my mind, my Mother is ageless - 34 years old forever. I often wonder what she would have been like as an older woman, as a grandmother. Would she be proud of me? Would we go get pedicures together and talk about the latest good song on the radio or book we've read? If I am half the woman and mother that she was I think I would be doing well. But it would sure be nice to have her here to re-affirm it.  

Mother and Child Reunion - Paul Simon

To my children: Thank you for making my job as a mother so easy. The relationship I have with you is the one I dream I would have had with my own Mom. I pray it means as much to you as it does to me. We learned from each other and I hope you can look back on your childhood with fond memories knowing that you were loved for exactly who you were. I couldn't be more proud of the successful young adults that you have become. Sometimes it was hard but we did it and when I look at you I can feel my heart soar and know that "We WON!"