Like a lot of moms, mine never liked having her picture taken. If she’s smiling in a photo, it’s almost certainly a candid shot.
When she reached the end of her life this summer after a long illness — despite her incredible determination and my dad’s round-the-clock care — there were lots of things we wanted and needed as a family. Dad asked if I could find a certain photo he took, enlarge it and get it framed to stand by her ashes at her funeral. The set this picture came from eventually turned up, but most of the prints disappeared decades ago. The negatives, at least, were all there.
Scene staff photographer Angelina Castillo suggested I take them over to Third Man Photo Studio to be scanned. I was expecting murky negative images that’d still have to be printed for me to have any idea about which one to blow up. I’m grateful to Angelina and the staff at Third Man for what I got back, and quickly too: a set of high-resolution positive images, as well as helpful information on where to print them, since Third Man couldn’t do it anytime soon. We ended up with exactly what we needed to help celebrate Mom’s life.
In the picture, it’s early 1985, and my mom and my sister (who died in 2021) are standing on the stairs behind our house, their dark hair and tan coats playing off the sandy brick wall. My sister, my mom’s first child, is 17 and will graduate high school soon. It’s a few months before I’ll be born, and for whatever reason, our brother (14 at the time) wasn’t around that day.
It’s a time of excitement and possibility. And in spite of the unseasonable cold — and the fact that Dad’s making her pose — Mom has a brilliant smile. Images like this help us transmute grief into memory, and I’m glad I’ve got this one.
—Stephen Trageser
Music Editor, Nashville Scene
Our notes of gratitude to the teachers, workers, nonprofits and institutions who make Nashville special
