DAY 279: FUNERAL PHOTO ROCKS MY WORLD

You just never know what you might discover among your Facebook friends' photos.

I am departing from my usual posting of my own photos and making an exception for this one...because I found a photo this week from long ago that simply took my breath away!

Charlotte Fenwick posted this photo of her sister, Monica Hayden, on Face Book, and mentioned that the little girl dressed in her first communion finery and standing next to the open coffin in the graveyard (so very unusual) was Sis Clayton - Chuck Clayton's wife.

That's when all oxygen left the room for me.

WOW.

"Sis" (Agnes) Clayton is my great aunt. She died just a few years ago. Many people all over Kentucky have examples of her art work, a passion she discovered rather late in her life.

Sis' daughter tells me that Aunt Sis spoke several times through the years of her sad First Communion experience. Her "partner" in First Communion died unexpectedly, so Sis had to go through all the First Communion events and ceremonies alone -- and she felt very alone, indeed. I imagine the unexpected death of her classmate and friend was devastating to many in the community.

Aunt Sis' daughter remembers her mother telling her that her friend was buried in her first communion gown. But her mother never mentioned that she'd been at graveside at her friend's open coffin!

Most likely, Aunt Sis never knew that this moment in her life was captured on film. Think about how unlikely that would be...unlike today's digital world, back then film and development was an expensive luxury for most people in this vicinity of Kentucky. And for a photographer to risk a shot like this (most people would not approve then of photography at a funeral) and actually come out with a half way successful image was really something. Sis' daughter expressed a wish that her mother would have been able to see this picture before she died. I wish the same thing. I am sure this image would have brought everything back to Aunt Sis of that day, and she could tell us all about it. But that wasn't to be.

After a little research and collaboration I've learned that Monica Hayden died on May 18, 1926, at the tender age of seven. She fell ill the week of her first communion; it was advised that she be treated with some sort of laxative - not a good idea. Little Monica died in a Louisville hospital after her appendix ruptured.

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The photo itself prompts more questions than answers. What was Sis about to do that prompted the adults around her to put their hands on her shoulders as if to hold her back from some action?

Was she about to put some sort of trinket in the casket with her friend?

Was she trying to reach out and touch her?

Was she standing there so long with hands folded in prayer that the adults had to finally lead her away so they could get on with the burial?

I guess we'll never know for sure.

To me, this is a priceless image. Even without the family ties, an early funeral photo like this one from our part of Kentucky is a very rare find, indeed. Bonus for all the first communion finery going on. That may be a first in the poignancy of passing department.

Just an accidental find on Facebook.

Thank you, Charlotte.

Comments

[Mike Mansfield]

I also wonder if the priest is in this photo minus collar or robe and who the man is closest to the coffin, to her right.

[Charlotte Fenwick]

After talking to my sister and sister in law, both in their 80's, they think the man in the back is my Uncle Hubert Mattingly, my mothers brother. They think the other man near the casket in the funneral home directer from Lebanon as Loretto didn't have one at the time.

[Charlotte Fenwick]

Monica was The oldest child of my parents, Mary Alma and Fred Hayden. Dad was born in 1895 and my mother was born in 1899. They were married in Louisville on Dec. 29, 1917. Dad died soon after their 50th wedding anniversary and Mon died on what would have been their 71st anniversary. They were devoted to each other and to their children. They lost Monica ate age 7, Gertrude at age 47, Tommy at 52, and Margaret died 2 weeks after
my mother. And in addition, it was customery to open the casket at the grave in those days.I agree with Donna, it must have been hard on Sis to have stood at beside her little classmate. Otherwise, she wouldn't have told her children years later. Maybe her art was her therapy.