Recovered family movie triggers trail of tears

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AUBURN — Trails to our parents’ distant past can often be found in damp basements and cluttered closets of their homes.

If you follow these disappearing paths, sometimes you get lucky and unearth something they never told you about from their past.

When my father died, the depressing obligation of cleaning out his home fell to his offspring.

Rummaging through my parents’ personal belongings made me feel like a cat burglar trying to get his hands on jewelry and credit cards. The grief you are feeling rises exponentially
when you throw out or donate your parents’ personal items.

There were several boxes stuffed with pictures of their lives frozen in black-and-white and color stills.

I became the designated the caretaker of our family’s photographs. There were hundreds of photos of McClure Street, the Blizzard of 1978, Waterford, Penn., and the Tall Ships sailing into Boston during the nation’s bicentennial in July 1976. 

We recorded the events of our lives with an old Polaroid camera.

When I began sifting through the pictures, we discovered about 20 feet of eight-millimeter film in a small box. My mother’s uncle, Rocco Conte, shot the film in 1958. It was a mystery for my son and me, but there it was, sitting in a box in my parents’ home for 58 years.

We tried to see what was on the reel, but it was impossible to make out all the images. A couple of weeks ago, I suggested we leave it to the professionals and we took it to a business where they transfer millimeter film to DVD.

After all, who still owns a projector! 

Photo Finish transferred the film to DVD in just two weeks. 

We picked up four copies, rushed home and shoved one of the discs into the DVD player.

The 2:59 second film was footage of their 1958 wedding in living color. I sat still, my eyes widened before they filled with a stream of tears. My wife and I watched it over and over, and through our watery eyes, we marveled at the silent, color images of the wedding. 

It was a cinematic glimpse of my Italian heritage and the relatives and friends who are no longer here.

Why didn't they tell us there was film! I could have made this for them a decade ago.

It took three minutes to transform me into an emotional train wreck and resurrect the grief I felt when I buried my dad with full military honors in November 2014.

I watched my smiling mom and her pristine white dress enter the church. Our young and handsome Italian father had a wide grin on his face as the crowd began throwing rice at the newlyweds.

The film was like a silent movie and the key actors were my mom and dad. I saw my grandmother, my uncle Rock, Carol and other people who have passed into eternity.

Watching those long lost images of the their past made me realize their absence in our lives still hurts like hell.

Those feelings of loss never go away and watching them drive away in the film to a honeymoon in Canada snapped my heavy heart in two.

But those images of my parents were worth a good cry and it won’t be the last time I shed a tear when I watch this must-see rare film of my parents in the prime of their lives.

Loss for words

"You never realize how much your mother loves you till you explore the attic - and find every letter you ever sent her, every finger painting, clay pot, bead necklace, Easter chicken, cardboard Santa Claus, paperlace Mother's Day card and school report since day one." - Pam Brown


"Everyone I know goes away In the end." 
                                           "Hurt" by the Nine Inch Nails

AUBURN, Maine — Nothing is the same when your mother dies!

I look at the phone resting quietly on the counter and expect a call from her. But the line remains silent as I sadly remind myself that I will no longer hear her voice again.


The one-year anniversary of her death has snuck up on me and knocked me to the ground. I've been hit hard with such sorrow and find it almost impossible to believe she's been gone for what seems an eternity.

Those are the most difficult and depressing moments — when I am alone in the house and find myself longing to hear her long-distance voice. There is always that emptiness that seeps into your heart. She will never be apart of my life. The finality of death can drive any person mad or send them spiraling into a crippling depression.

Her passing reminded us all of our own mortality.

I cherished our lengthy discussions when we both had a free moment to speak with each other during the day. 


The world seemed right and I felt reassured that my mother still gave a damn about me despite our differences. Two hours before her death, I was pleading with her to see a doctor, believing she might have pneumonia. She wouldn't listen and told me she would be fine.

I wish that was true, but she wasn't a fan of doctors or maybe she had enough of muddling through another day of dragging around that ball-and-chain, her oxygen tank.

Going out for a cup of coffee also became a chore because she was forced to take along her portable respirator.

It's been a year since her tired body gave out and death quietly claimed my mother, leaving a family shell-shocked and heartbroken over her abrupt departure. I do not seek pity or comfort from my fellow man. I understand Death is inevitable, and for me, there are no five stages of grief, only longing for a person I loved and respected despite her shortcomings, and we ALL have them.

It just hurts and will smart the rest of my life. I have done a fine job keeping it together in spite of this enormous loss. My understanding son and wife are my lifelines and prevent me from going under in a tumultuous sea of sorrow.

Louise and I would talk every day about every thing. We engaged in lively debates about politics, religion and music. No topic was taboo for a mother-and-son team who figured out the world's problems over the course of a 20-minute phone conversation. I miss that give-and-take from a woman who loved opening her mind up to new adventures and ideas.

I still find myself reaching for the phone to boast about one of Anthony's adventures or accomplishments. She enjoyed hearing about all her grandchildrens' exploits, and I made sure she was the first to learn about our fun in the sun.

She was a remarkable women who confronted mental illness and other hardships with her combative zeal.

She wasn't perfect, and I don't think she sought perfection, anyway. She was life-long smoker who could drive us all mad at times, and of course, her four children drove her completely bonkers. But that is the pact you make when it comes to unconditional love among family members. There is a hidden clause in that unwritten contract where families promise to stir the pot as emotions run high between siblings and parents. We would be at odds with her one minute, and like sudden gust of wind, we would all be hugging her and professing our devotion to this family's matriarch.

Louise loved the ocean and was a regular at Revere Beach. Our mother courageously brought four children to the beach and single-handily watched over her brood without any help. She did this on a daily basis well into our teenage years before we slowly ventured out on our own. To this day, I think she deserved some kind of medal for entertaining four rambunctious children on hot summer days. There was one warm September day when we, just the two of us, walked the beach and then dipped our feet in the salt water that was still warm from those steamy August days. We topped off that Indian Summer day with a hot dog from Kelly's Roast Beef and just talked. Years later, Louise, my son and I spent a few hours on the beach while she sipped coffee and I flew a kite. She stood by the wall and smiled as our kite soared into the heavens.

Sometimes, I will listen to WBZ in Boston to get handle on the news and I think my mother is sitting at the table listening to radio with a cup of coffee in her hand. Louise always had her ears tuned to radio. She enjoyed the medium and thought television could not hold a candle to radio, books or newspapers. Louise believed in the power of knowledge and the printed word. She understood words start wars and bring peace, inspire people and uphold the law.

There is an old, hand-made windmill that was built in Pennsylvania by my late Uncle Ted. I took it home with me soon after Louise's death and began restoring it. She loved the unique lawn ornament because Uncle Ted built it.  I worked on it with loving care and remember how she would ask me to drag it out of her cellar each spring and display it on the lawn. I will carry on that tradition when I drag it out of my cellar and place this restored windmill and all its splendor in my backyard. 

A year has passed since she passed away with no fanfare on a Monday afternoon. The sadness still gnaws at me and memories of her still trigger a sense of hopelessness. A glance at the windmill, a song from the '70s or reading one of her numerous letters can be a heartbreaking experience.

I have in my possession hundreds of photographs of dead people who can no longer be apart of my short life. My mother joined that exclusive club of late family members frozen in time.

I miss them all.

And now, whenever I want to ask a question about our heritage or a long-lost relative, she is no longer there to provide the answers. This was a woman who was proud to be a DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) member and regaled with stories of her childhood growing up in Everett, Mass., and spending her summers as a child in Waterford, Penn.

What I wouldn't do to have one more long-distance conversation with her over a morning cup of coffee. I would tell her I loved her even though she already knew that.

But I would tell her anyway.