The Body, Parts Four & Five

Morningtime.  I walked up the sidewalk, lilting probably, falling in love with the world and beginnings as I tend do whenever I can.  Soon I had to slow my pace behind an ambling older man.  He wore overalls, neat white hair, strong creases across the back of his neck.  In one hand, he held a strap that pulled a tiny tricycle.  In the other, he carried a very small bike helmet.  

With no children in sight, I thought it looked like perhaps only a moment ago he'd been a little overalled boy pedaling up the sidewalk until he had suddenly found himself an old man, no longer able to sit on the shiny green seat, to fit the little helmet on his head.  I thought maybe now he was dragging his trike home to keep in the garage until some other little boy came along who could use them.  I wondered if he was worried about how his mother would take it.

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I collect old copies of National Geographic magazine from the 60's - 80's; I use the photographs for collages/multi-media art stuff.  A few years ago I came across a photo that has possibly, in the absence of any one model I want to emulate, most defined the emotional core of my vision of Family.

The photo was from an article on some ancient city that had been demolished one morning in an earthquake.  From the bones and other remains they found, archaeologists were allowed a glimpse of the city on its final day.  Illustrations imagined a bustling marketplace, women doing the wash, men mingling in the square.

Among the homes, one set of skeletons was found particularly well-preserved - all three pressed into the ground in the same positions in which they were crushed:

A female skeleton in fetal position held a baby skeleton up to her chest.

The tiny cracked skull lay right next to her ribs.
The bones of her left arm still bent around it.

A larger male skeleton spooned her, their leg bones still perfectly aligned in the dirt.

One set of his arm bones seemed to be crushed beneath them.

His other lay across them, alongside her right arm.

Their finger bones were all mixed up in a pile with the baby's teeny ribs.

They died like that:  surely in fear, but all curled up together, trying against hope to protect each other.  Their last thoughts - whatever else had been going on before the quake hit - must have been filled with the knowing of their love for each other, their unity in that moment.  Or maybe they were all just sleeping in together that morning so soundly that the quake covered them before they could wake.  Either way....

The first time I turned to that page I stared for full minutes, just in quiet awe.  That's all I want in a family; that's all it comes down to, isn't it?