My mother was an interviewer with the US Census Bureau for over thirty years. She knew the importance of an accurate answer. But this time, the stakes were not congressional appropriations based on unemployment figures that year. This was more personal. This was her life.
She was nervous, and excited. She was on the other side of an interview now, and it had taken a bit of persuading to get her there.
I had met Whitney Myers at a book club meeting, and was immediately drawn to her bright personality and her passion for spending time with older people. When she described her new video business, Sacred Stories, I thought how wonderful it would be to have my mom‘s life story chronicled on film, with Whitney behind the camera. I approached my siblings about it, and they all thought it was a great idea – except they were certain we could do it ourselves. We would write our own questions! We’d figure out how to edit iPhone videos! We would have the grandkids interview Great-Grandma! Lots of ideas, and no forward motion.
So when my mom received an especially generous birthday gift of cash from the Vietnamese family she helped sponsor through her church in the 1970s, I suggested we use that money to hire Whitney. She was unsure. The Nguyens would essentially be sponsoring the story of her life, I said, just as she had helped sponsor the beginnings of their new life in America. Now she was interested. Could we put their name in the credits? Of course! Could she share their story too? Of course! And preparations began.
We discussed what outfit to wear. We went over stories she wanted to be sure to share. We gathered up photographs that could be inserted into the video itself. My expectation was that we would have a professional-grade film of my mom telling her story, and certainly that expectation was met and exceeded. But there were so many more gifts along the way.
My gentle, humble mother, who always attended to everyone else, was now going to be in the limelight at age 94. It was a new concept, and she was hesitant about being the center of attention. However, she quickly warmed up in Whitney’s calm presence, and the stories poured out of her. How lovely to see her energy and enthusiasm returning!
One of my jobs, besides assuring her that her lavender sweater was perfect, was gathering the photographs to insert in the film as she narrated her story. I had lots of family photos, but needed to dig deeper: the newspaper article about her job as a census taker, a picture from her trip to DC to receive a national award. I scoured the internet and found a vintage postcard of the lake in Michigan she visited as a child, an old photo of her childhood church in Kalamazoo, even a picture of a skinny Douglas Fir decorated for Christmas in the 1930s. As I created this visual thread, her story became even more alive for me. The pictures I had nodded at over the years were suddenly full of meaning. The process had deepened my understanding of my mom, and enriched our already close relationship.
A completely unexpected gift was how thoroughly captivated my mom was by seeing the final video. She had looked in the mirror, of course, but had never seen herself moving and talking, and she was surprised and fascinated. “That’s me! That’s my life!” she would exclaim as she watched it over and over. We bought her a simple little DVD player she could hold comfortably in her lap. She was totally engaged, nodding along with her own words or crying at the tender parts. She watched it so often that she memorized what she had said and would silently move her lips along with the film. This particular memory still makes me tear up. It was so endearing to watch her watching herself, telling her own story, finally seeing the whole of her beautiful life.
That beautiful life ended the next year, and I was beyond grateful we had made the film when she was healthy, and when she could enjoy the process and the product. The memorial service was rich with many of the same stories she shared, and the church held many of the people she spoke of, including her beloved Nguyen family who had “sponsored” the film. In the church foyer, a table was filled with photographs and mementos that held meaning for her, with a mini-story to accompany each item.
I am a sentimental person by nature, one of the many qualities I inherited from my mother. I treasure the items that were meaningful for her, but I have learned that the most important keepsakes are the stories we continue to hear and remember and tell. These are the gifts that keep coming, that continue to warm our hearts with a legacy of love.