This last sunday I bought another collection of old photos, nothing big, $20 for a box of about 100 photos. They ranged from the 1910’s to the 1950’s. When I buy that many photographs I always go through them together.
Occasionally you find other things amongst the photos, letters or other papers. Sometimes they give you insight into what peoples lives were like, sometimes they tell you stories. With this latest group I got a story, a tragedy. I found the news article in a plain white envelope, and thought it was odd that someone would keep such a memory. The story is of a 3 year old girl named Patricia Branson.
I started to go through the rest of the photographs looking for a connection. After a few minutes I found one group photo with some writing on the back “Grandma Branson” I wondered if there was a link and then I saw her, that little face, the face that is disturbing my thoughts tonight. Patricia was just like all of us, she just wanted to play for a few more minutes, but fate stepped in.
The Bransons must have thought there would be many photographs of Patricia throughout her life. Countless memories to capture, but some stories are short stories, and the closest we can get to the happiness of the past are the photographs that remain.
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