New on The Spence Family--A Love for Books

As I was thumbing through my old photo album last night, I kept seeing photos where I remember something I was wearing (a nightgown, a swimsuit, a sweater, huaraches), or somebody who came to visit, or even an Easter egg hunt where I found an egg under a lifted piece of sod, or my 8th birthday party from which I still recall some of the gifts. For all of those occasions my mom was present, even in the photos, but all I remember are the things, the other people, the moments as they presented themselves to me. I remember that she did this or that, that she rode the tram up to the top of Snowbird before we hiked through Albion Basin the summer she died (my grandparents came too and drove her home), but I don't actually remember her in any of the times shown in the photos. Even the last photo I have of her before she died is of me showing off a new umbrella that was a gift from a friend at my birthday party--my mom is looking at me with a small smile in the corner of the photo. It feels a little selfish, that I seemed to take not much notice of her. I am sure that I did, at the time, but I am a little afraid I was too wrapped up in myself--probably like most children! It's definitely not something to feel guilty of, how you may or may not have been as a small child, but I do hope I gave her enough notice, enough smiles to feel appreciated. I wish I could go back, gather memories, and make sure she knew.


Julie Tate, reading at the kitchen table several months before she died

Then I thought of one thing that she gave to me. One thing I appreciated then, appreciated all growing up, appreciate now for myself, and now for my children. Books.

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