My mom, Sue, had a very challenging childhood. Her father died when she was young, and she carried just two memories of him with her. I suspect her favorite involved fishing adventures and her first ‘big catch’. The photo my grandfather snapped of his girl, Suzie, became the cover art for “Surviving Sue” – the image you see snipped in above. My kind publisher inquired about options when we tapped a graphic designer, but I was quick to wave off alternatives and said, “No, no. I’ve always known what the cover would be – going all the way back to when I began writing.”
The sweet little girl with the enigmatic smile had no idea that her father would be gone in a few short years, felled by rheumatic fever. When Sue died in 2015, I found a trail of keepsakes and the most notable? Copies of this beloved, sepia-toned photo, depicting one of her best days ever – fishing with her father.
Each photo was dog-eared, worse-for-wear and folded over. As if each had been clutched in an anxious palm or stashed in a secret pocket.
I found the smallest snapshot in Sue’s wallet, and it included a faded scrawl on the back: “Suzie and Daddy at the lake”. Penned by her father? I found a slightly larger version in one of Sue’s jewelry boxes. The one that contained the engagement ring from her secret first marriage and her high school class ring. A box of mixed-up memories?
The most well-preserved photo was wrapped in tissue paper, yellowed and partly consumed by silverfish. And yet…it still protected a larger, 8×10 copy of “Suzie” in her fishing pole pose. The one that was digitally preserved, becoming the cover art.
Do you have mementos that are so treasured and beloved that you dare not handle them and choose to hide them away? Photos or objects that epitomize the bittersweet nature of love and loss?
I think that’s why Sue never shared the photo while she was alive. Looking back was far too painful for her and I suspect she would’ve been swept away by waves of grief and melancholy. The haunting what-iff-ing.
What if her beloved father had lived?
What if his loving kindness had been securely in place, years after the fishing expeditions, to help her manage her impulsivity? The impulses that resulted in questionable, life-altering choices which shaded her life for years to come. I think she knew her life might’ve been different had her father’s love sustained her, but she soldiered on, speaking only about him in passing. Sue put the ‘before times’ to bed. Days when she was the shining light, a beloved first born to a father who adored his little Suzie.
I remember wondering how Sue knew “fishing things” when Lisa and I were young. Sue knew how to cast, how to bait a hook and once when I asked Dad/Sonny about it, he just smiled and said, “Her father taught her well”.
The only other memory Sue allowed herself to share about her father popped up anytime we were gathered around my Nanny’s old farmhouse kitchen table, usually for holidays or birthdays. We could count on hearing the “fried potatoes story” – no matter how many times we’d heard it before. In her characteristic, flamboyant way, Sue commanded our attention as she talked about her prowess in the kitchen and her ability to spin simple ingredients, like potatoes, to feed a hungry family after their father died:
My aunts were fun-loving with Sue during family get togethers; reminiscing about their poverty and living on fried potatoes when they were children. Sue would proudly remind them that she could stretch a few spuds to make a meal for five if she had enough bacon grease and salt. She also had a burn on her right arm that she would proudly display when this storytelling occurred. She liked to remind her siblings that the burn came from a grease fire that blew up while she stood at the stove as an eight-year-old, making dinner for the family.
I also heard stories about their house being dirty – especially the kitchen. They laughed about never having clean plates, resorting to flipping them over so they could eat on the “clean side.” Sometimes they’d just eat out of the skillet, huddled around their wonky kitchen table. (Speaking of which, I have that table in my house today. It is an ancient-looking 1800’s maple artifact with two pop up “leaves” at either end. It was in Grandma/Nanny’s house when she passed and no one wanted it, except me. I remembered knocking my knees into the table legs as a kid because I would end up sitting in the middle, negotiating for room with the table posts and hardware that held it all together. If tables could talk, what would that old piece of maple have to say? It might recall the afternoon when Uncle Keith shared that he was going to Vietnam, and the tears that flowed around the table.)
-Surviving Sue, p. 51
I’ve found myself musing about Sue’s treasured tales about her father. I suspect the fishing memories were too painful for her to revisit because her grief was incapacitating. But talking about her ability to make do and feed her family, assuming the role of parent – often mother and father – became a well-worn story because she persevered. Not just for her own benefit but for her mother and siblings. Strength under monumental stress…she did it…over and over again. If only she’d had the power to save her father from a devastating illness.
When I think about intergenerational healing, I’ve often reflected on our daughter, Delaney’s desire to understand Sue’s life, knowing that so many nuances will forever elude me. There’s always a backstory to the backstory, don’tcha know. Sue carried pain and loss throughout her life, and it started long before Lisa and I were born. Little girl lost. Three words that described Sue’s childhood.
Working with students and clients and applying the principles of Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), I suspect Sue suffered in ways that were largely ignored in the ‘hard knock life’ of generations past.
If reading about ACEs is new for you, Nadine Burke Harris’ book “The Deepest Well” is a great primer on the topic. Despite the heaviness of delving into adverse childhood experiences, Dr. Burke points toward hope and building compassion.
If you’re curious and want to learn more, I’ll share that I like the way in which this Harvard resource qualifies and contextualizes the 10-item ACE quiz:
The quiz is a helpful tool for raising awareness about the potential impact of ACEs. But it’s important to remember all the things this quiz doesn’t take into account. First, there are many experiences that could be traumatic for children that the quiz doesn’t ask about—community violence, racism, other forms of discrimination, natural disasters, housing insecurity. That means answering all the questions on the ACE quiz will not give a full picture of the adversity a child has faced – and thus would not be a true indicator of possible risk—nor a full picture of the possible solutions communities should consider.
A helpful tool. Yes. But I always advise those who are interested to go to the source – the CDC-Kaiser Study.
Intergenerational healing is a worthy goal; one that I held in my heart as I wrote my book. I recognized that my mom, Sue, carried unresolved pain of her own long before she was ever a mom or grandmother. Awareness doesn’t negate the pain or take away the hurt, but it goes a long way toward building empathy. With love.
Vicki ❤
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Victoria Ponders 
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