mysteryoriley

Last night, I mentioned an idea (a phrase, really) of Owen’s: “because hidden sentences happen.”  Sometime back, he framed one of his drawings where this phrase shows up in the lower right hand corner.  I had always wondered what he meant.  A few weeks ago, I was up in his bedroom, looking at his stuff, picking it up, turning it over, and I dropped the picture.  The glass broke, I shattered along with it, and felt I had just lost another part of him.  Thankfully, I found I had not lost another part of him, but had learned something else about him, no matter how hidden.  Thanks, Bubba.

When I took the drawing out of the broken frame, I discovered that there was more to the phrase, on the part of the paper hidden by the wood frame.  What he continued to say, I didn’t understand completely.  I thought, huh, even the words are part of the hidden sentence.  The words are certainly there, but the meaning is hidden somewhere in the recesses of Owen’s life.

Tonight after work, I picked up 17 rolls of film I’ve been carrying around with us in a plastic bag for years.  These were photos taken mostly by me, and though I didn’t know it at the time, Owen. 

His photos are easy to pick out.  Few have people in them – mostly animals, landscapes, rocks, plants, and views from his bedroom windows.  Some of the film was as much as 10 years old.  I’d always thought most of the rolls of film would be ruined by the time I got around to developing them, but luckily, they’re all here.

Those ten years were lean, and although I could usually manage to buy the film for those special, and everyday occasions, I could rarely spend the money to have the film developed.  I collected the rolls in a silver bowl, given to me by Michael’s mother, until we moved from San Diego.  That’s when I felt a more protective container might come in handy.  The plastic bag served us well.

Because hidden photos happen, I was finally able to recall memories that would have otherwise vanished.  Pictures of our kids laughing and playing, having birthdays, visiting parks, camping, going to Disneyland, spending Christmases together with Mom and the girls, weekends with Nat’s friends visiting us in San Diego, Lea and Owen playing guitar together, and more – all were vague freeze frames, until tonight.  Freeze frames still, the photos allowed me to recall the laughter and the love, and to hear the hidden sentences.

Owen took photographs like he drew, painted, and wrote – with little regard for what others would see or hear.  I think he was always trying to prove he was really here.  His many self-portraits would point in this direction.  I think he was surprised he was here.  I think he spent time thinking about what’s out there, that is anything and everything, but…here.

Song for the night:  Hidden Place, Bjork (one of Owen’s favorite artists)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l2loVEqBW5Q

~ by Linda on January 8, 2008.

Posted in animals, art, beauty, child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, children, death, family, forgiveness, friends, grief, holidays, learning, Life, literature, mothering, music, mystery, pets, plants, poetry, writing
Tags: art, Bjork, brothers, Emmitt Owen Riley, film, Hidden Place, Linda Siniard, music, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, painting, photographs, poetry, writing