One Small Miracle

 My great-grandmother, Bertha Gifford

As I write this, a package is making its way to my address via the United States Postal Service. I can hardly stand the anticipation. I've been waiting for its contents for over a quarter century.

Last Saturday, I received an email from a woman who introduced herself by explaining her genealogy. Her great-uncle, Gene Gifford, was the second husband of my great-grandmother, Bertha Gifford.  We're not related by blood. (I am Bertha's great-granddaughter through her first marriage, to Henry Graham.) So why does this woman's genealogy matter? I'll tell you why. Because this very kind person, in going through very old family photos, found some of her great-uncle Gene--and his wife, Bertha. And she wanted to know if I would like copies of them. Would I? Oh holy saints preserve us, why yes, yes ma'am, please and thank you a thousand times.

Other than the picture posted above (and one I have never shared publicly that was taken on the day she was incarcerated), there have been no other photographs of Bertha Gifford in existence. Or so we believed. The one shown here is a copy of the photo taken by the St. Louis Post-Dispatch photographer at Bertha's trial (for murder). Due to the family's shame at her arrest, and their subsequent distancing of themselves from her, no photographs of her have ever been passed down. Until now.

Suddenly, out of the blue, on a normal Saturday when I had finished walking dogs, and I thought I would just quickly check my inbox before working on my current writing project, here was this email. From a stranger. She'd read my memoir, The Tainted Legacy of Bertha Gifford, and she'd heard "family stories" about Bertha since she was a young girl. When she came across the photographs, she thought I might like to have copies.

Her phone number was included at the bottom of the email. I called her. She picked up. We chatted like cousins (because we very nearly were) for twenty minutes. She promised to make copies of the photos the following Monday, then send them on to me.

Please, USPS, hurry up. Because all I can do in the meantime is pace around the house and wait. I know, I know, I've waited this long. It's only a few days, right? I'm so excited....

My mother, Arta Ernestine West Murphy

UPDATE: Oh hey, are you still reading? Because, after I wrote the first draft of this post, I strolled down to my mailbox, and, what do you know? That package has arrived. Haven't opened it yet. Stay tuned....