I struggled a bit in coming up with a title for this post, but I think I captured my feelings perfectly. Last Saturday was the 15th anniversary of my father’s death, and it completely hit me: The family photos of the four of us are finite.
Every year, I never know what to say and on Saturday morning, I found myself going through an old family photo album. The photos were mostly from the ’80s, naturally, since that seemed to be our heyday. There were snaps of us at parties, at the playground and, of course, a shot or two of me hamming it up for the camera — and one where I’m reading TV Guide.
And while there were some great shots of us from the ’90s, those are pretty few and far between. It’s almost as if our lives just stopped; granted, I know that’s not true in the literal sense, but the life I knew as the four of us, as us as a family unit, is no more. That part of our lives is over, and I’m reminded of that in so many ways sometimes.
Take our hallway, for example. It’s lined with family photos. We’ve added recent photos of my mom, sister and me throughout the years. But my father’s work picture from the mid-’90s has remained. There are no new updated photos of him. There will never be any new photos of him. He’ll be 51 years old forever.
It’s hard thinking that his life was finite — no more birthdays or holidays or even more photos of his smiling face. Where would he be in 2018…? What would he be doing? Would he be addicted to his iPhone too? So. Many. Questions.
These questions, of course, will never be answered. But I am eternally grateful for the photos we do have. Those are things I’ll treasure forever. These photos truly capture his spirit: A kind, gentle man who loved his family more than anything.
I love you always, Dad.. xoxo