Page 76 of Loving London

“I remember Nan telling me that I was meant to be adopted by my parents because I resembled my dad when he was little, and God knew that she wanted another blue-eyed boy to squeeze.”

“Well, you definitely resemble him. It’s surreal.” She hands me the photo.

My parents are facing each other. Mom’s arms are wrapped around Dad’s neck. They look like they’re dancing. My mom’s head is thrown back in laughter. My dad’s eyes gleam with mirth as he faces the camera. It’s odd, seeing my mom so happy. In all my memories, she was sad, heartbroken for the babies her body couldn’t carry. I want to remember her like this—young and joyously in love.

London and I make our way around the room, taking in each picture, speculating about the event that went along with the happy moment in my family’s life. Each photo represents a time that was special enough that my grandparents wanted to remember it—to capture it, frame it, and give it a presence within their home.

It’s hard to put into words what it feels like to actually see my parents’ faces again. All these years, I’ve tried so hard to remember the details of their faces. But time dulls memories, and as each year went by, the details blurred into each other until they were mere shadows in my mind.

“Do you remember this one?” London asks, handing me a photo containing everything that was good with my childhood.

I’m sitting on my dad’s lap. My mom is next to us on the couch. Her arm is around my father as she leans her head against his shoulder. My grandparents are wrapping their arms around us all, leaning in from behind the couch. All five of us are wearing giant smiles full of genuine joy and love.

Closing my eyes, I breathe out of my nose, long and heavy. Dueling emotions battle within me. Seeing all their faces causes a surge of grief to consume me, but at the same time, I can’t stop the smile that comes to my face as the memory returns.

I open my eyes to look at London. “Yeah, I remember it. This was the last Christmas that we were all together. My dad had set up the automatic timer on the camera. He had it stacked on top of many books and boxes to get it at the right level for the photo. My granddad was obsessed with wasps, and he knocked over the tower of stuff holding the camera in an attempt to kill them.” Elation expands in my chest at the memory. “I remember my dad running to the camera to make sure it wasn’t broken, and Nan almost fell over a chair while trying to get to Granddad before he broke anything else.”

“Wasps?” London smiles in question.

I shake my head. “I can’t remember what that was all about. I don’t remember any bugs in the house. I just recall laughing at my granddad and his silly antics. I don’t think Nan thought Granddad was as funny as I did though. It’s crazy…” I stare at the photo again. “You would never know by looking at this picture that the moments leading up to it were filled with so much chaos. We just look like the perfect happy family.”

“You were,” London states, the corners of her mouth tilting up into a smile. “Life isn’t the posed smiles for a camera. It’s the beautiful chaos that surrounds the picture. Your life was perfect because you were enveloped in love.”

I stare down to London. Her eyes capture mine, and a surge of gratitude for this woman encircles me.

My pulse leaps when an angered voice cuts across the room. “What are you doing in here?”

London and I jump back from each other with startled gasps. An older woman is standing in the doorway with her cane raised, ready to strike.

“I’m sorry. I was just—” I start to explain.

The woman’s mouth falls open. “Blimey, it’s you,” she says in wonder. She returns her cane back down to the floor. “You’re the grandson.”

“Hi, I’m Loïc Berkeley.” I extend my hand, and the woman shakes it.

“I’m Esther Willis, the caretaker of this place.”

“You’re the caretaker?” I ask, returning the photo of my family to the shelf where London found it.

“Yes, though my grandson does most of the work at this point. It’s been a long time.” She stares up at me, and I feel as if the last sentence was a reprimand of sorts.

“Do you know where my grandparents are?”

She nods. “Follow me.”

She leads us to one of the bedrooms. Using her cane, she smacks the side of a box that’s sitting on the bed. “In there, you’ll find everything you need—letters, legal documents, a deed to this house, their will.”

“So, they’ve passed,” I say out loud for myself more than anything.

“Jane, yes. It’s…let’s see…coming up on twenty years now, I believe. Right before your parents’ accident, she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. She was actually in surgery when your parents passed. I’ve never seen her so distraught as when she heard the news.” Esther stares off to the ground. “Jane was my best friend. We were pregnant with our sons at the same time.” She smiles to herself.

“Anyway,” Esther continues, “she was so sick, you see. She wasn’t cleared for travel. She talked to the government people over there, and they said they would place you with a nice family until she could make arrangements to get you. But…she never got better.” Esther looks past me, as if she’s remembering. Releasing an audible sigh, she says, “She wrote to you every day. The letters were all returned. They’re in the box.” She nods toward the bed.

“What about my grandfather?”

“He’s still alive.”

When I hear those words, I draw in a deep breath, my pulse leaping. “A couple of years prior to Jane’s death, he was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. He couldn’t come get you because he could barely take care of himself. He was put into a home shortly before Jane’s passing. He’s still there. Unfortunately, his mind is gone. I’ve been up to see him a few times, but he doesn’t know who I am, let alone who he is. Alzheimer’s is a miserable way to go…steals your mind but leaves your body. Just terrible.” She shakes her head.

---