I’ve been organizing some of my old pictures and I came across this one: my parents, my brother and I, 40 years ago. I kept looking at the picture and I quickly remembered when and where it was taken.
I must have been five years old when my family took a trip to my father’s hometown and I remember the visit we paid to an elderly couple, my father’s aunt and uncle. They were in their eighties, no children, and they both had some health problems. We didn’t get to see them very often, given the fact that we were living in different cities situated far away from each other. My parents wanted to visit them as a courtesy, and for me, that was the first time I met them. And the last one. I didn’t get to see them again; after that visit, I just heard my father talking about them from time to time.
I don’t have many memories from when I was five years old. But despite my young age, or maybe just because of that, that visit remained very well imprinted in my memory. What I vividly remember about that visit is the elderly couple’s bedroom. Even though it was situated on the second floor, I felt like I stepped into a cellar. My mother had to take my hand and lead me in. As I cautiously walked in and looked around the gloomy room, I noticed that it was shadowy and cold; to me, it seemed chilling, almost lugubrious. The walls were off white, and the foggy windows were covered with dust that would barely allow the light to penetrate the darkness. The air was stale, and I could feel the smell of what it represented for me then – old people, probably a combination of drugs and a poorly ventilated room. The rug was worn out and stained in a corner, and the floor was squeaking. There were old postcards stuck between the huge, antique mirror and its frame. As my parents started talking about things I didn’t understand, I continued scanning the room. A large bed was the main piece of furniture, and it was taking too much of the space in the bedroom. All the other pieces of furniture seemed dark and dusty, and there were way too many for the size of the room. Right next to the bed, tens of medicine bottles were lined up on the dresser. I distinctly remember the huge painting above the bed that was dominating the room; it made me feel uneasy and intimidated. The painting had a dark background and represented a beautiful, naked woman lying on her side with an arm underneath her head. The other arm was holding something in front of her chest. It was all unclear, and looking carefully, I realized it was a foggy, whitish smudge. It all looked eerie, and I clenched my mother’s hand harder and harder.
Looking around, my eyes noticed the human fixtures in the room: the Aunt and the Uncle. My Aunt was probably bedridden because she didn’t leave the bed during our visit. She didn’t talk much, and I cannot recall many things about her. I didn’t know her. She was a stranger to me, and it looked like she wasn’t that happy to see us. The Uncle was healthy enough to slowly walk around the room and make some conversation, but even he seemed tired and sick. He was very skinny. His face was pale, almost ghastly, and wrinkled, and his lips were thin. He was wearing a beanie because he was bald , and he had a nightgown over his pajamas. They both seemed to be some characters from a horror movie and I expected in any moment for some roaring creature to come out at me from underneath their bed.
Even though I wanted to leave that place as soon as possible, the whitish smudge on the picture was still haunting my mind. The visit didn’t last long, but for me, a five-year-old girl, it felt like an eternity. I didn’t say a word. I understood that my parents were happy to see our relatives again, but I couldn’t wait to leave that house. By that time, I was already tense, and I still couldn’t understand why we were there. Right before we left, I gathered all the courage I could muster and I asked, almost whispering, pointing to the naked woman:
“What is she holding?”
To my surprise, the bedridden Aunt giggled and confessed:
“That used to be a skull, but because it looked too harrowing, I preferred to wipe it out.”
Years have passed and that experience is still alive in my memory. I am not sure if I felt terrified by the idea of a painted skull in that gloomy bedroom, or relieved that the Aunt didn’t like it and tried to get rid of it. Leaving that house, however, I started to like my Aunt. At least, she didn’t like the skull. Neither did I.
Great post! It’s fascinating what we retain from our early years and the detail of this particular memory is amazing!
Love the photo too!
Thank you. For me at that age it was all scary. For me today, it is just funny. When I think back to my relatives, I feel empathy and compassion. 🙂
Isn’t it interesting how we perceive these occasions when we are young? Good job of telling a story long forgotten.
Thank you. I’m glad you like it. When we are kids, things have a completely different significance and some events may affect us in bizarre ways.
What a wonderful story and weren’t you a cutie!
Thank you. 🙂
Looking more closely at the photo, I noticed the car…were you born in the Czech Republic? There is a lot more to your story it seems!
I was born and raised in Romania, but we had Skoda cars imported from the Czech Republic. It was my parents’ first car. 🙂
Great story post! You definitely have a talent for storytelling. Your words create such vivd images. I loved reading this!! Thanks for sharing. 🙂
Thank you so much, Kathryn. You just made my day! 🙂 I just checked your blog and you have lovely posts and a beautiful family.
Great post-you set the scene so well, I was holding my breath to see what would happen next!
It’s exactly the way I felt it then; I was waiting of something to happen. Thank you for reading and commenting. I’m glad you liked it. 🙂
It’s amazing how one picture can bring so much back to memory – that’s why I LOVE photography! You tell a wonderful story, by the way!
Thank you for your kind words, Kristen. I’m glad I could share this memory with you.
I love family history and old pictures!
I especially love this picture; my parents were so young and my brother was so…. serious, haha! 🙂
Oh, by the way! I love, love, love your blog! 🙂
What a great story! You brought the experience to life! Isn’t it interesting how scary old people can be when we are so young;0)
Haha, you are right, they looked scary to me. That’s why I remember them so well. Thank you for visiting. 🙂
I love how you left your aunt and uncle’s house deciding that you were starting to like her because of her feelings towards that painting. I love the story/memory you shared. I love that picture. Your mom and dad look so happy and friendly.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Rochelle. I’m glad you like it. And yes, my parents have always been happy and friendly. 🙂
I was right there with you and feeling creeped out too! I remember that smell and the darkness that often accompanied visiting old folks that were very sedentary. Your story sure brought a lot of memories back! Way to go.
Thank you for your kind words, Julie. I’m happy you like it. 🙂
Love your family picture!
I’m always amazed at the strange things we remember from our childhood.
Thank you, Tshanina. This picture is one of my favorites. 🙂
It’s a precious photo. =) And you have the same smile.
Thank you so much. 🙂