|My Dad, 1962|
(photo by Bruce Steinhardt)
Yesterday I visited my 93 year-old mother-in-law in the hospital. It was my first visit of this particular hospitalization, as I have been busy holding down the home front so my husband, Danny, could spend as much time as possible with her.
“Sure”, I’d said when he gave me the pavilion and room number. “Easy, I know that ward, see you there around noon.” Bustling about, trying to wrestle order from chaos in our apartment, I did not stop to think for a moment why I knew that ward so well. So it took me by complete surprise when I burst into tears as I rounded the corner to approach the cardiac care unit.
The one where my father had spent much time in the last year of his life.
He didn’t die there, but still, it was full of memories.
So here, I want to pay tribute to him once again.
This is one of his important photographs:
Woman in Greenwich Village Cafe, 1948
And this, his most well known, "signature" photograph:
Cement worker, 1955
Pearl Seller, 1947
Girl Playing Hopscotch, 1950
Coffee Shop Santa , 1949
|Dad, September 2, 2009|
Good bye again, Dad. I was thinking of you today, mourning you anew.
Remembering how I would tape up Xeroxes of your photos around your hospital beds to cheer you up. So we could look at something of beauty in that place of pain and diminishing. And so we could show the hospital staff “The failing body in this bed was a person. This old man was somebody. This is the man who took these beautiful, astonishing photos. Treat him well.”
If you would like to see more of my fathers photos, look here. And if you would like to know a little about his life, here is my eulogy that I read at his memorial service this past March.
He wanted to be known. He was beloved. He is remembered.
I’m linking up to Wordless Wednesday at Angry Julie Monday.