Imaging Family Memories: My Mum, Her Photographs, Our Memories

Abstract

My Mum, Edna Wilton, died in July 2009. It was unexpected. She had been living independently. It’s true, she was short of breath, had a heart condition, a cracked pelvis and had had a fall—but she was rallying; getting better. Then, after four weeks of slow recovery, her body suddenly shut down. She was 90. The medical staff, friends, relatives; we all kept talking about a long life, a good life. It didn’t compensate. She was gone. As so often at times like this, my brothers, my sister, myself, our families, our relatives, our friends started to share memories. Her life, our father, our childhood. Her memorial service was full of memories. An oral history interview I had conducted twenty years before, complemented by her exquisitely eccentric diary of significant events from across her life, shaped the memory-picture we used to provide a framework for all of our other memories. Her mass of loose photographs and photograph albums offered up images and memories that could be shared through the wonders of modern technology. As we talked and remembered, there was Mum as a child, a Girl Guide, a young mother, a grandmother, a volunteer at the Royal Far West Children’s School,2 and so much more. Someone photographed the service. This mixing of photographs and memories continues to shape the ways in which we are coming to terms with our Mum’s absence; we are sharing stories and building a bank of family images that can be passed on to children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, cousins, and friends.