The Day I Chopped Off My Grandmother's Head and Other Memories

The last time I drove by 2105 Blackrock Avenue there was a wiry Puerto Rican man in a wifebeater holding a baby in the window of my grandparents' apartment. My grandmother had passed away and my grandfather was in a nursing home. Returning with my aunt, uncle, and cousins from a visit at the home, we passed by the old place. "I'm glad to see a new generation of life moving forward in the apartment," my typically positive Uncle said in his in his slow deliberate way. It's a weird last image, strangers in a familiar space. For 30 years that window framed my grandfather as he waved goodbye and I waved back until the car pulled out of view.

One particular dinner I recall in that apartment was possibly the first time that my Aunt to be joined us for a family gathering. As memories grow further away they become more dream like. There were several meals in my grandparents' home with my Aunt in the early days: there was the time I wanted to be alone in the extra bedroom and play with my new glow in the dark clay, and there were times when we watched my Uncle's slide shows (one slide was a lab skeleton), and there was once a family Monopoly game at the kitchen table.

At this particular dinner there was a cake at the end with candles in it. Maybe it was a birthday. My grandmother's birthday? Could be.

My Uncle, who kindly spoiled my brother and me with gifts and attention was into photography at the time. My grandmother cutting the cake was a great photo-op. My Uncle was more qualified to take the picture than five year old me. But he was also kind. So he let me stand on the chair and helped me hold the camera and position it.

My Uncle sculpted my arms and showed me exactly where to position the camera. And I listened, even though I looked through the eye hole and saw that if I held the camera where he said then my grandmother would be prominently featured center frame cutting the cake, but her head would be missing. I negotiated with my uncle, said I thought the camera needs to be a higher. But I was exuding uncertainty, and he felt like I needed to be told where to hold it. And even though I knew the ramifications, I clicked the picture knowing that I was chopping off Grandma's head.

(To Be Continued...Maybe)