My nephew, Kenny, has always been a sweet boy. Even when he was in elementary school, he was eager to help his parents whenever they asked. When my husband, Frank, died in an auto accident, Kenny offered to forego his high school graduation to be with me in my time of sorrow. Of course, I declined his offer—you only graduate once from high school, with all of the parties and general sense of finally becoming an adult. But I appreciated his kindness and we remained close, although he had gone away to college.
It was during his first spring break that Kenny gave me a gift that changed my life.
"Hi, Aunt Jill," he said cheerfully over the phone. "Mom says you need a door repaired in your garage. Can I come over and fix it?" That very afternoon, he was diligently finishing up the work on the garage door when I walked in with some iced tea. As we talked, Kenny saw through my smiles to the sadness in my eyes.
"What's wrong, Aunt Jill?"
"I'm sorry, Kenny. I'm just thinking that it should be Frank standing there."
He looked at me and I could tell he felt awkward listening to the lament of his widowed aunt. But as we talked, he seemed more at ease and I felt OK to share my feelings about lost companionship, lost touches, lost love. At 41, I was down on myself, on my looks, on my chances of being happy with a man again.
"Do you have a camera?" he asked, out of the blue. I remembered the small digital one that Frank bought a week before he died. I don't think he ever used it. I tried it a couple of times, though, at birthday parties and a couple of weddings. I'm not very good, but the camera delivered acceptable photos.
"I do," I said.
"Could you get it, please?" he asked.
"Why?"
"I just want to try something," he said with a smile.
I went back into the house and returned several minutes later. I gave him the camera. He fiddled with it and then turned it on.
"May I take your picture, Aunt Jill?"
"Why do you want to do that?"
"I just want to show you something. Could you step over there by the workbench?"
I was puzzled but I did as he asked.
"Smile," he said. He shot three pictures, and then looked at the LCD screen on the back. "Just as I thought," he said.
"What?"
"You are a pretty woman with a great smile. Here, look." Kenny walked over to me and clicked through the three shots. "Don't tell me you're over the hill," he said, chuckling.
"You're just lucky," I said. "Usually, I break the camera." I had to admit, though, that I didn't look bad.
"Let's try a couple more," he said, backing away from me. "Please turn toward the window a little bit." The attention that Kenny was paying to me made me feel good. For that moment, I was his model and he was doing his best to capture what he saw.
"Can I ask you something, Aunt Jill?"
"Sure," I said, smiling at my personal photographer.
