Volumes

A friend recently posted a photo on Facebook - taken back in 1926 - that speaks volumes to me.  I'd never seen it before - a gathering of Alpha Kappa Mu, or AKM, members. So much, captured in one photo, a simple shot that underscores the complexity that was my mother.  

Having grown up in Bryn Athyn, joining the AKM - the high school sorority for "settlement" girls - it never struck me as odd that Mom had.  But Mom's family lived Baltimore.  Typically, Aunt Dot, then Mom & finally Aunt Betty would have attended the Academy of the New Church (ANC) as boarding students, joining the DEKA.  

But there was nothing typical in how the Reynolds' children attended ANC.  

Mom raised all of her children on stories about our grandfather's devotion to providing his children with a New Church education.  Unlike other families who lived a distance from Bryn Athyn & sent their offspring to board, he rented homes in or nearby during the school year so they could attend the Academy en famille.  Mom was forever proud of her father's devotion. 

But that picture of the 1926 AKM got me thinking.  

Although well-intentioned, my grandfather's commitment created a heritage of heartache.  How did he not see that by living in Bryn Athyn while school was in session, in Baltimore when it was out, Mom ended up never fully planted in one place or the other.  Friends made during her Baltimore school years drifted away once she came up to Bryn Athyn.  She never experienced the special bonds that develop between dorm students, yet the B.A. girls knew she wasn't truly one of them.  

Never the one, never the other, Mom might not have felt bedevilled by a poor sense of place, but her two daughters would!  

Seeing the picture of Mom with her AKM "sisters," all of this hit me HARD.  It was the ping of a long-missing piece of our family puzzle falling into place, why she could never grasp what I meant about yearning to belong.  To her, being part of but not really belonging was normal.  Being part of something but never really belonging was normal.  Even now, I find that chilling.

Looking at that picture, it all became clear.  There was Mom, a sophomore in 1926, back row, third from the right, with the rest of the AKM.  Certain names stand out – Gertrude & Stella & Elsie, especially Anita & Nadezhda –  as girls Mom always talked about as friends in those years. 

With the exception of Anita Synnestvedt Woodard, who wrote a lovely note when Peter was born around the same time as her own Anna, I never had a sense of any of them feeling connected to Mom, was not aware of a single ANC classmate with whom she was close friends as an adult.  

Perhaps that’s why her seven trips down to our church society in Hurstville, Australia were extra special times for her.  She totally belonged, with grandchildren she adored, dear friends who became part of the warp & woof of her life, the church she loved.  Family, community & church, all there for her in ways Bryn Athyn never came close.

So different from her experience & expectations back here.

No one was served by my grandfather’s extreme devotion to New Church education.  It killed him.  He died of a heart condition when Mom was just a year out of high school, while Aunt Betty was still attending.  The extra long hours he put in to fund two homes in two towns in two states contributed to his deterioration & death. 

Hard to see how his good intentions left anything but a far-reaching trail of sorrow.  Oh, how tempting to really blast him for his choices!  Still... 

Parents make what they believe are sensible decisions.  To others, some of those decisions can seem incomprehensible.  With the advantage of years passed, it's clear to see where things went horribly awry, with reverberations echoing through generations.  I hope that others will do for my bad calls what I must with my grandfather's - realize he did the right as he saw the right, making decisions from a perspective I can't begin to grasp. 

While crucial development years were marked with loss of old friendships & handicapped in making new ones, Mom had a forever best friend in her younger sister, Betty, and a somewhat more guarded but still treasured one in her significantly older sister, Dot.    

Ultimately, Mom would a develop her natural (albeit temporarily muted) flair for friendship into a high art. 

Once out of high school, taking care of Edward & Lynn’s children, Mom became a surrogate big sister to Babbie & Elsa, whose friendship she treasured above all others, both as dear to her heart as her own children. 

While working in Strawbridge & Clothier’s book department, Mom developed close, lasting friendships with kindred spirits Truey & Bryce, who maintained a close connection to the end of their days; with Ellen, who was Mom’s soul sister; and Gig, through whom she met Raymond Lewis Lockhart, her ultimate best friend/soul mate/O Best Beloved. 

Once she married and moved back to Bryn Athyn with Dad, Mom made up for lost time, developing strong, forever friendships with a troupe of younger women - never her classmates - who became my honorary “aunts”:  Joyce, Kit, Gay, Doris, Di, Alice G. & Alice H.  She & Dad forged lasting friendships with other couples & a delightful bevy of pleasant acquaintances.    

In her “golden years,” Mom’s circle of friends expanded to include Grandma Rose, Miss Cornelia, Consuela, Mrs. Ridgeway, Rachel.  

Smiling, remembering the ease with which she formed friendships in her last years, with several of her doctors considering her a friend as much as a patient & hospital staff members from Holy Redeemer to INOVA/Alexandria to St. Mary's stopping by her room for a quick pick-me-up. 

But in high school?  Zilch. 

We can’t change how we grew up, the sometimes challenged others who helped forge the people we became.  We can realize that well-intended actions sometimes resulted in dubious or flat-out bad outcomes, that incorrectly received & processed messages made their way into our core narrative, that it’s still & always hard to know which “realities” we experienced actually were real, which weren’t. 

It’s tempting to look at that photo, knowing all I think I do, and point blame. At my grandfather for making such a questionable decision about his children’s schooling.  At Mom, for whatever I feel she did or didn’t do that stunted my own ability to make friends throughout my school years. 

It would FEEL so good to lay blame.  Alas, am too aware that the only reality I know for sure is that we all need to take life experiences lightly in our hand, because so many times it turns out that what we recall happening either didn’t or not the way we remember. 

Much wiser healthier productive to release any desire to assign blame, to start & stick to the premise that most folks begin with the best intentions. 

My grandfather meant only the highest good from what he did.  Yes, it left havoc in its wake, but how many times has something I did or set into motion done the same?  

Mom hadn’t a clue why her youngest felt UN, not even at the end, when she’d made such strides in coming to terms with so much else.  Now, 14+ plus years after her passing, I have a glimmering as to a possible why. 

Those glimmers of possible whys are important to my often arrrghravating analytical, “let’s get to the root of the problem” mind & spirit.  Over & over, I'm gobswoggled at when how when they pop up.  Pretty cool, long after Mom’s passing, to still get a fresh sense of compassionate connection.   

Like my grandfather,  even when Mom fell short of her good intentions, there's no doubt she gave it her best.  

Here’s hoping others feel the same about me!

Incredible, the new insights awakened by an ancient photo of Katharine Reynolds back when she was old enough to be my granddaughter.  New awareness & renewed compassion from a picture that speaks volumes.