Photo credit ~me
I take pictures. And I post them. It’s something I did before grief but not nearly as much as I do now. Some might question the need to photographically document my life’s moments and share. For me, it’s a lesson I learned in grief.
I have so few pictures of the people I love and have lost. I often wish I had more.
When I look at the few photos I have of each of my parents, both who are gone now, memories rush back, the sounds of their voices are ever present and there’s a guarantee that time can’t erase what was captured. Those pictures mean everything.
There is this one photo that sticks out in my mind. When Adam and I took it, there was no way of knowing it would become proof of our mighty love and eternal connection. Today, that one picture simultaneously corroborates my heartache and epitomizes my understanding of love. It was one of the last memories we shared. We didn’t take many pictures together. One might say we were living in the moment and too busy to capture those moments on film. It’s a regret I carry. I learned.
My boys are too young to understand the value of these photos I insist on taking. This is evidenced by hems, haws and the occasional eye roll. As if to say, “There she goes again, taking another picture.” I hope that one day, a long-long time from now, these photos will be a gateway to the warmest of memories captured in their hearts. For that very reason, I’ll keep taking pictures. Because…. I know.