Thursday, June 8, 2017

Say Cheese.

I'm looking through pictures.

I take so many selfies.

You know it.

I know it.

Maybe that was part of the problem.

Who knows?

But I know I do. I do because if I don't - didn't - I was never on the other side of the camera.

So I take so many, and include the kiddo in them. We have a blast taking selfies. It's memories in the making. We laugh at the blurred shots. The filtered photos. We watch and re-watch the videos. We pose. Make duck faces. We do all the things we can think of and try to fold them into a few quick shots on my phone.

You're not there.

You're not in the pictures.

How did I miss it?

Did I, really?

I suppose I just accepted it. Respected your wants.

Your likes and dislikes.

And so ...

You're not there. You're not in the pictures.

And still, I went back to find some.

There were a few from last summer.


A birthday here and there.

I suppose there were the few I forced on you. Forced to capture those moments, those memories.

Maybe I did it because I know what photographs can mean to a child.

Hell. I know what they can mean to an adult.

They're a huge part of what I have left of my dad.


I look through them often. I smile. I cry. I hold on - to the memories - the moments - whatever I need. I have them, at my fingertips. Virtual or otherwise. I have them.

I can see him whenever I want to. Because I have the pictures.

And I suppose I've been determined, maybe since he passed? - I'm not quite sure when it all started - to take the photographs she will forever hold. The ones she will always look back at. The ones that will help her to remember us when we are no longer here. When we are no longer able to be on the other end of the phone. Or holding her hand. Singing songs with her. Laughing. Holding her when she cries.

I want her to have them.


All of them.

So. Please. Even though I'm not with you.

Do it.

Take pictures with her.

She needs them.

She needs them now.

And she'll need them decades from now.

So do it.


Take the selfies you loathe.

Or hand the phone - the camera - off to someone else for a moment.

Let them take the pictures.

Give her a small but permanent capture of the memories you're making.

Say cheese.