Object-ives #34: My Mother’s Photographs

Why I’ve held on to photos of a woman who was cruel to me as a child

May 08, 2026

black and white glamour photo of woman in 1940s — a photo of Dianne Moritz’s mother from the 1940s, taken for the *Des Moines Register*

It’s been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. It’s true. Something visceral happens when we view a beautiful image. Something emotional, deep-seated, often physical, happens. It’s like being suddenly awestruck.

That is how I felt when I found two long, forgotten photographs of my mother, tucked inside a file box, buried for almost 70 years.

I’d gone to Sun City to help clear out her home when she died suddenly in 2015. Later, I was told she sat down after phoning a friend and, in a second, was gone. She didn’t suffer. For that, I am grateful.

My mother and I had a very difficult relationship my entire life. She was a demanding and critical parent, often verbally abusive. Growing up as an only child, she had been spoiled and fit all the key points of a narcissistic personality. She sometimes blamed her plight on her two young daughters. Her constant consumption of alcohol didn’t help matters any. After a binge, she often said the most disturbing things to us.

She once told me I was an ugly, scrawny infant at birth. WTF?

One night, on a summer break from college, after consuming staggering amounts of booze, she pointed her finger at me and said, “I know why you’re so f+++ked up. I left you home alone when you were a baby whenever I went to the laundromat.”

“Charming,” I retorted. “You’d have lost custody if done in this day and age.”

The night I was getting ready for my senior prom, she barged into the bathroom and started bullying me about my flat chest. She then said her body was ruined after my birth. Her sagging breasts were my fault.

Who says these things to a daughter?

So why couldn’t I part with the two professional photographs of this woman, which had been taken by a Des Moines Register newspaper photographer in the 1940s, that I discovered and hauled home to Long Island after her house was ready to sell?

1940s black and white photo for Des Moines Register of woman positing in a chair

Both photos were ruined, almost beyond repair: rolled up, riddled with cracks, rips, and age spots. Still, there she is, a young, lovely twenty-something posing for a local Des Moines, Iowa artist for extra money. The clippings pasted to the back were proof.

Sitting in an old cane chair, she’s draped in an exquisite, embroidered silk kimono, her thick black hair streaming down her back, a celestial beauty, looking somber while the artist works.

I was compelled to save them.

A new photo shop had opened in town, so I called to ask if they did digital photograph repair.

They did. I took them in for restoration with no concern about the cost.

A few weeks later, a shopkeeper delivered them to my home. The restoration was excellent, far beyond what I had imagined, without a single flaw, just perfect.

I quickly logged on to Amazon and ordered two 18" x 22" large black wooden frames complete with matting. They were the ideal complement to my mother’s black-and-white 1940’s photographs.

Everyone said I was a fool for having these ancient photos repaired, especially since the woman was no longer living, and what’s more, paying about $200 a piece for the restoration.

I disagreed. I needed to honor this woman who bore me, as difficult as she may have been. I simply needed documentation of what could have been before her life got in the way, before age, motherhood, and alcohol were her undoing.

Today, these two photographs of my mother now grace the walls of my apartment. I admire them every day.

Sometimes people ask, “Who is that lovely girl?”

“That’s my mother,” I say, “when she was young, hopeful, and full of promise.”

Despite our tangled past, I’m glad I own them. They depict a brief moment in time. They are a valued, tangible homage to the woman who gave me life.

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