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Flyover People

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Bunny ears  most family albums have them, a picture with a boyraising two fingers behind a sister"s head.

If you open a photo album of a typical Kansas family, you"relikely to see birthday cakes ablaze, ornament-laden Christmastrees, views from the top of Pike"s Peak.

You"ll probably find snapshots of kids riding bicycles, teenagersdressed for the prom, folks at a picnic table eating hot dogs andbaked beans.

The other day while looking through Dave"s family albums, I sawpictures of a little-girl tea party, a game of lawn darts, and thenuclear family (two parents, four boys, one girl) lined up on theirfront porch.

The Leiker albums also hold photographs from the annual familycampouts.

For years, Dave"s family set up tents at one Kansas lake oranother. I joined the fun in the early ?0s and we"d cookhamburgers, and bait hooks, and swat mosquitoes.

At the campouts, there was an annual competition. The first year Iwas part of the family, the challenge was to build a solar-poweredcoffee maker. Dave"s brother, Larry, won that contest. Larrybuilt a large, silver-colored parabola which boiled water fasterthan Mr. Coffee.

Another year, at Council Grove Lake, the contest was to constructthe best water balloon launcher. Curt and Nancy won with a hugecontraption they had hauled behind their truck. It was probablysturdy enough to launch a calf (not that we"d do that.)

So the Leiker family albums are filled with photos of holidays,happy events, and weekends at the lake.

What you"re unlikely to find in theirs or anyone"s familyalbums are the painful experiences. These are the things we don"tphotograph.

The family has been visited by one of those difficult times. OnJune 22, Dave"s sister, Deborah, 55, received a severe headinjury in a workplace accident in Salina. She was flown toWichita"s St. Francis Hospital, where the family gathered aroundtheir unconscious daughter, sister, sister-in-law, aunt.

A tragic time like this is part of the family history. But it"snot something you"d want to put in an album and return to;heartrending events are not something we record.

Nevertheless, in the hospital, I saw poignancy in so many moments:I watched Clara place her hand on Deb"s arm. She leaned over,SHi, Debbie, it"s Mom.. We"re all here foryou.

A moving photo could have been made of Henry, as he stood behindhis wife of 68 years, his hands on Clara"s shoulders.

There would be such tenderness shown if I had captured Dave"shand brushing Deb"s hair to the side. And there was Larry withred-rimmed eyes, sitting near the bed.

These were sacred moments, the final days of a loved one"s life.

Leaving the Trauma-Surgical Intensive Care Unit one afternoon, astory-telling picture could have been taken from behind as Curt andNancy walked down the fluorescent-lit hallway, arms around eachother"s waist, shoulders slumped in sadness.

At 4 a.m. one morning, as Dave and I entered the hospital room torelieve Jim, we found him sitting beside Deb, his hand wrappedaround his sister"s.

The only thing I ask,Jim said, Sis that you hold her hand.I"ve been holding it for like 11 hours now.

During that nine-day vigil, there were many silent minutes, when nowords were spoken.

These are the photographs that we don"t take. Instead, we use ourphoto albums to recall the good times: Deb holding up a basket offish she caught, or launching a water balloon, Deb bent overlaughing.

It"s the happy moments that we document and cherish.

Someday soon, we will look at the albums again. Our fingers willpause on photos of the family campouts.

Because remembering the sound of each other"s laughter willalways return us to our joy.

SFlyover People is online at www.flyoverpeople.net.