Don’t Ever Change
Posted By Randy on September 24, 2008
The “memento mori” (reminder of mortality) was a curious photographic phenomenon popular in 19th century North America. You never looked better.
About 15 years ago, one of my medical alarm clients dropped her panic button in her toilet. She fished it out right away, but in trying to wash it off, water penetrated the casing and caused an alarm. After the dust settled, and she told me what had happened, I went to her residence to take whatever corrective action was necessary.
After dismantling the device (these were the old days, electronically speaking) and thoroughly blowing out the small amount of visible water with compressed air, I asked the client if she had a hair dryer I could use to be certain that all traces of water had been removed. She said she didn’t have one herself, but that she was sure her neighbour had one we could borrow.
My client lived on the second floor of a senior citizens’ apartment building in Lunenburg, and her neighbour lived directly across the hall. Just before I went to speak with her, my client whispered, “She’s as dippy as the day is long, but she’ll do anything for you.”
Taking that for what it was worth, I was soon standing in the neighbour’s foyer while she rummaged in closets trying to find the hair dryer she obviously hadn’t used in years. Her search technique was amazing to watch. She would throw open a cupboard, a closet, or a drawer and root through the objects therein, sometimes pulling something out that wasn’t a hair dryer, and then tear past me on her way to the next target. As she passed, she would thrust the object into my hands with a breathless, “Look at this!” If she didn’t have a new curiosity on her next pass, she would make a comment on the one I was currently holding.
As her search neared its climax, she came by and passed me a black and white photograph of a man. Although it was in a modern frame, the photo was obviously very old. The gaunt man was seated in a wooden chair. His face was sunken at the cheeks. One eye was open, the other half shut; both eyes looked in different directions. He was wearing a dark suit that was more than a little rumpled. One side of his shirt collar was up, the other down, and his tie was askew. He didn’t look in the least comfortable.
As I studied the picture, there came a crow of success from the end of the hall followed by the neighbour’s triumphant approach with hair dryer held on high. As I relieved her of her cargo and handed her the picture, she said with obvious pride, “Isn’t that a wonderful picture?”
I had to admit I’d never seen anything like it.
“That’s my grandfather,” she said, “He was dead when we took this.”
[...] People knew that for one thing to live, something else must die; and everything dies. They lived closer to death and knew it more intimately. Children were present when livestock were slaughtered and butchered and none of them needed therapy for post traumatic stress disorder because of it. Families packed a picnic lunch and brought it with them to eat at a hanging. At funerals, the corpses of loved ones were routinely laid out for viewing in the family home rather than the staid atmosphere of a funeral parlor. At a wake the deceased was the life of the party. The dead were photographed and their portraits framed for display. [...]