I love photos. I love taking photos, I love being in photos, I love framing photos. As a result I have loads of family photos around my room. I have a picture of my parents when they were my age, I have a picture of me being kissed on both cheeks by my parents, I have a picture of my brother and I each picking up our parents, him with my mom on his back, me with my dad. I have a 4 photo frame with pictures from our trip to Costa Rica. I have a photo being held by one of those clips next to my computer of the four of us at a Red Sox game last summer. They are everywhere. I love these photos, they remind me of what a fabulous family I have, of how close and loved we are. These photos are meant to keep me happy when I'm feeling down, allow me to brag and show off my great family, and again remind me of who I am and where I come from.
Right now these photos are making me sad. They remind me of who I've lost, of the missing piece that's not coming back.
The home where I grow up has a historical wall up the main staircase devoted to family photos. Every time I walk those stairs I think of all the wonderful times I've spent with my Father, how much he loved us, and what a great Man he was. I think of how now family photos will just be three of us and that it seems odd. On family vacations we could share one room. At family gatherings we'll be the ones with no Dad.
Then I force myself to cherish the memories these photos hold. They are reminders of wonderful times we've spent together and all that my father has passed on to me and all that he was able to provide me with. These can never be taken away, they won't go missing and don't stop with his passing.My children may not be able to meet their Grandfather, but they'll know why everyone who met him fell in love with him, what he looked like, where he took us and in me they'll have everything he passed onto me and that will only get stronger.