Written by Dennis Harvell
We gathered at Woolworths on Third Avenue, deep in the Bronx, weaving through crowds to make our photo appointment on time. It was my idea—a surprise for our mother, a portrait of unity, memory, and love. We waited for Timothy as long as we could, but he never came. No excuse, no explanation. Just absence.
Still, the five of us pressed on. Rodney, Tracie, Verna, Tonia, and me. Brady Bunch style—three boys, three girls, me the oldest, Tracie the fifth child, each of us carrying our own role in the lineup. We were excited, laughing, dressed in our best. It was a spring day that felt like summer—sunny, warm, full of possibility. After the shoot, we walked home together, slowly, savoring the moment. We were happy. We were together. We were doing something for Mom, and for each other.
Although we loved each other deeply, we struggled to say it out loud. For years, “I love you” felt like too much—or maybe not enough. But as we grew older, we realized those words weren’t a sign of weakness. They were a sign of acknowledgment. A quiet way of saying: I see you. I’m with you. You matter to me.
Now, Rodney and Timothy are gone. The rest of us are older, scattered, living our lives. This illustration—born of that photo—still brings me to the confront of that moment. It carries the weight of memory, yet reshapes it into something I can share. This moment lives again—not as a photograph, but as a story. It reminds me of a simpler time, when we were all close, all present, all trying. Even minus one, we were whole in spirit.
Beautiful memories treasured, how wonderful!