Ma's Scrapbooks

Ma passed away last week. It doesn’t feel real… She was always there for me my whole damn life, a single mother doing the best she could, and now she’s just… not. I know it's not my fault, but I can't help but think about how things could've been different if she didn't have to raise me all on her own. Now I’m in her house, going through her things to find out what to keep and what to toss, and every item is like a closed fist to the gut. Especially the photos. Ma loved to take photos whenever she spent time with anyone, and made what amounted to a mini mountain of scrapbooks, one to sometimes two a year. As much as I know I should just set them aside for now, I can’t help but go through them page by page.

The oldest one here is from when I was born, 1979 emblazoned on the cover in glittery pink numbers. It’s crazy how completely different she looked back then, her hair up in a bun and not a wrinkle in sight. There’s me too, of course, a little tiny thing in blue striped pajamas. Most pages are only pictures of that baby, capturing all the special moments of my life. But as I turn the page, one of the photo’s stands out to me, in a way that turns all these emotions I’m feeling into confusion.

The picture is simple: Ma smiling in her favorite chair, back before it was falling apart at the seams, me in her lap with that dumb baby expression on my face… and a man standing next to her, hand on her shoulder and smiling at the camera. Wavy black hair matches the fine mustache on his lip, and square glasses rest up high on the bridge of his nose. With a green sweater and khakis, it all comes together and makes him look like he could be a run-of-the-mill…

But no, Ma never mentioned anyone like that. Well, I never asked, but still. There’s a caption to the photo that reads: ‘Kurt, James, and I.’ Kurt… that’s the man, of course, but it tells me so little. And I can’t ask Ma anymore. I just have to hope this isn’t the only photo of this guy.

Now I’m flipping through the scrapbooks quickly, only sparing glances at each photo as I search for Kurt in any of them. So many memories rush past in the blink of an eye, it’s hard not to stop and savor them. But this needs answering as soon as possible. I reach the end of the book and set it aside, searching through the mountain for the one from 1980. Maybe he doesn’t show up again, but until I check all the years I don’t remember I won’t be satisfied. But what am I even going to do if I do find another picture of him?

But about halfway through the 1980 book, I see him again. This time he’s outside, dressed in an apron and tending to a grill, the same big grin on his face. Looking at the picture closely, it looks like he’s in the backyard of the old house where I grew up. There, in the background, is the old white fence looking better than ever, the hole that I used to sneak out through not yet there. So, is he really…

There’s someone else in the background of the picture. I didn’t quite recognize her with how young she is here, but with a closer look there’s no mistaking it. That’s one of Ma’s long time friends, Mary-Jean. Of course, she would know who this ‘Kurt’ is. She has to. That settles it, I’ll call her up right now and sort this whole thing out. If he’s just some guy, that’s that. If not, then… I’ll figure that out then.

The phone seemingly rings so slowly, my eyes glancing back towards the photo all the while. Anxiety is running around through my body like it’s a racetrack. Maybe Mary-Jean just won’t pick up. Then I can resign myself to ignorance and move on with the slim satisfaction that at least I tried. That kind of outcome would be out of my control after all, so-

She picks up.

“Hello, James!” she says with the vibrant warmth I know her for. “How is everything, dear? Are you doing well?”

“I’m fine, Mary-Jean,” I answer. She already knows about Ma. Knows about how much it hurts me. Told me to call if I needed to talk, which must be what she thinks this is. I wonder if this is worse. “Hey, I need to ask you something. I was going through some of Ma’s old scrapbooks and, uh,” How do I even phrase this? Best to just say I suppose. “Do you know who Kurt is?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a heavy sigh. “Oh dear, how did this become my responsibility?” She chuckles nervously for a moment while I wait with baited breath. “You're a smart boy, James, so I'm sure you've put it together already. But yes, Kurt was your father.”

There's a ringing in my ear as I process this, not really feeling anything at all. Then, from somewhere deep in my gut, a long buried anger bubbles up, finally having a direction to go.

“My father? I knew I had one, but… where the hell has he been all these years! Did he just walk out one day and leave Ma all alone!? Struggling, working herself ragged to take care of her son all on her own!”

“Now, wait a minute, James-”

But I'm not listening. “Does he know!? Does he know how much Ma went through on her own, with no one there to support her when she needed it most!? Why did he leave her? Why wasn't he there for Ma when she needed him? Why…”

I slump up against the wall, tired from my sudden outburst. A father… Good-for-nothing-

“James, please listen,” Mary-Jean says. “Things aren't like that. Kurt was always doing the most he could to make sure your Mother had everything she needed, but… There was an accident at his job, and… she wasn't even able to say goodbye, James.”

Oh. And like that all that festering rage subsides, washed away by understanding. What a fool I am.

“He didn't want to leave her behind,” Mary-Jean continues. “And your mother was devastated. But she had you still, and all her love and care went straight to you from then on.”

“Why didn't she ever tell me?” I ask.

“I'm not sure.” She pauses. “Maybe… maybe that was the one selfish thing she ever did, just to avoid reliving the grief his passing brought. But I can't say for sure, James.”

“Thank you, Mary-Jean,” I say with a sigh. “I need a minute to digest this. I'll… I'll call you again soon.”

“Alright James.” I can hear the smile in her voice again. “Take care of yourself. Talk to you soon.”

I set the phone down and go back to the first photo, the one that makes us look like a family. Kurt stands there looking just like a proud father should, this one moment being the only reason I even know about him. Ma… I don't know why you never told me about him, but I hope that after all these years you're finally able to see him again. Maybe you can introduce us whenever I join you two.