Discovering Home: A Photo Organizer's Journey Through Memories
Discovering Home: A Photo Organizer's Journey Through Memories by Jennifer Loomis, Owner of Signature Photo Organizing
My mother standing in front of a tree circa 1978 Photo, Jennifer Loomis age 10
While cleaning out my storage which was full of Burning Man costumes, old art, and remnants of prior versions of me, I stumbled upon a photograph that would change my perspective forever. As a photo organizer by profession, I've spent years sifting through others’ memories captured on film, but nothing could have prepared me for the emotional journey this single photograph would take me on.
The photo, faded with rounded corners typical of the 70s, depicted a scene that seemed to transcend time. Standing proudly in front of large bush was a beautiful young immigrant woman with a sweet smile and an easy stance, clutching a purse. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and genuine happiness, as if she couldn't quite believe that the house before her was real, that it belonged to her.
As I held the photograph in my hands, I couldn't help but marvel at the strength and resilience of the woman staring back at me. My mother had come to this country with nothing but a dream, leaving post WW2 Europe. She fled farm life, worn torn Europe and more, secrets that she shares with no one. And here she was, a testament to the power of hard work, perseverance, and hope.
I couldn't help but wonder about the story behind the photograph. What struggles had my mother faced on her journey to home ownership in the 70s? She was a single mother, and divorced something that was almost unheard of back then? What sacrifices had she made to turn her dream into a reality? What road blocks did she experience back then? Women couldn’t even get bank accounts in the 70s. As I delved deeper into the layers of my family history, I saw resilience, drive, and unwavering determination.
My mother had arrived in this country full of hope. She met my father, married, had two children, a new house in the suburbs — and then he left her — with nothing. Single with two children and minimal education, she worked tirelessly to make ends meet and save every penny she could. She faced discrimination and adversity with grace and dignity, never once allowing herself to be defined by the challenges she encountered. She gradually climbed up the corporate ladder and became a Vice president at CitiCorp, always reaching for the job that offered her more of what she needed, meaning that we moved a lot. Had she been a man, it would have been effortless, but she was a woman and it required a lot of energy, like a lot. Her anthem those days, was a song by Helen Reddy “I Am Woman.'“ I remember her playing it over and over again on the record player. I still have that record.
And then, finally, after years of hard work and sacrifice, she had achieved her dream of home ownership. Her first home is a symbol of everything my mother had overcome, a testament to her strength and resilience in the face of adversity.
As I reflected on the significance of the photograph taken by me at 10, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride wash over me. My mother's journey was not just her own; it was a part of my own story, a legacy of perseverance and determination that had shaped me into the person I am today, and all of the complexities that come with it. And as a photo organizer, it is my privilege to preserve and honor her story for my son, and his children to bear witness to.
In a world where photographs are often dismissed as mere snapshots of the past, it's easy to forget the stories they hold, the memories they encapsulate. But as I held that faded photograph in my hands, I was reminded of the power of a photograph, of storytelling, and the ability of a single image to catapult us back into an emotion, a time, but also reveal an essence of your story that you need to complete your own picture and heal your own journey. This photo, like others, captures the holistic story both good memories and bad, and embodies the complete essence of a childhood, a family, and more.
In the end, the photograph wasn't just a piece of paper; it was a window into the soul of my mother, a reminder of her strength and resilience in the face of adversity. And as I placed it carefully into my bag, ready to preserve it for future generations, I knew that its story would live on, a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit.