Elizabeth Jean Joyce, my mother at two, obviously unhappy with the situation. She appears in a better mood with her mother’s aunt, Bess Greer, on what looks like a small farm out in the country, or maybe it’s just a large back yard.
This morning I did a Google Earth tour of various places in Youngstown where my mother, and then I, grew up.
Virtually everything has changed. Houses torn down, leaving vacant lots. Wide bands of highways with cloverleaf exits and entrances replacing single-lane roads. No evidence remains of my mother’s family, no hint of their passing. Just these photos, a few of which have brief captions on their backs. The rest are unnamed strangers.
I’m the only one left to write the family history. It won’t be a very long one, but obviously much of it I’ll have to make up.
Haven’t decided yet what kind of ending I'll give it.