A lesson in grief—all because of two pictures. Let me explain.
When we were going through things in Mom’s house on North Avenue after she had moved to Attic Angels, I found two pictures shoved beneath some old baby clothes in one of her cedar chests. I had never seen the pictures before and was at a loss as to who the person was that was photographed standing in front of the Wisconsin State Capitol building with Mom.
The second picture, clearly taken outside of the farm house where she was born in Beaver Dam, Mom stands side of this same “mystery man”. She is looking at him in a very adoring way. Standing in front of a car, dressed in military dress, he has his arm around Mom.
Who was this mystery man? Why were these pictures in the cedar chest under some old baby clothes? Why I had not seen these before?
A few days later, on one of our visits to see Mom at her new apartment at Attic Angels, I brought along the pictures to show her. Her first words; after staring at them for over a minute, were “Where did you find these?.” I told her that I had found them in the cedar chest under some old baby clothes.
“That’s where I hid them”, she told us. Then her chin started quivering and she teared up. After collecting herself, she told us the story behind the pictures.
The man in the pictures is Bob Gahlman. She said he was her “first love” and her “soul mate”. He was about four years older than her, and they had dated for several years. She told us that the first picture was taken on a Sunday afternoon when they took a drive from Beaver Dam to Madison for the day. The second picture was taken when he was on leave from the Marines. They were engaged to be married.
He had asked her to marry him when he was on leave and when the leave was cut short, he asked his Mother to go with Mom to buy an engagement ring for her. He didn’t want Mom to wait until he returned for her to get the ring that would be a visible reminder of his love for her.
Mom told us that the day that she and Mrs. Gahlman were to go and look at engagement rings their plans abruptly changed when they received word that Bob had been killed in Iwo Jima on February 21, 1945.
“He didn’t have a chance”, she told me.
I asked her why the pictures were in the cedar chest. She told me that she hid them; that after she was married a few years, she thought it best to get rid of other pictures, but said that she couldn’t bring herself to getting rid of these precious few.
Sixty five years later, she was still grieving the loss. She was demonstrating through her recalling the story and telling us about her love for this man that grief has infinite layers and that love never dies. The lesson of the pictures and the beautiful stories that Mom told me and Bruce about this love from long ago provide all the confirmation I need. Her tears and the emotion just beneath the surface demonstrated that the grieving process never really ends. It may lose its all- consuming texture, yet it is still there to provide a reminder that someone important has left this world.
Sergeant Robert C. Gahlam
1921-1945