A photograph is a beautiful thing.
I found myself rummaging through a box filled with photographs of my dad last night. I often wonder what would be different if I didn’t have them. People instinctively grab their photographs when they’re forced to leave everything else behind. Photographs are powerful because we long for the memory they give back to us, and when an image appropriates our memory of a person we love, we treasure it. And with good reason. A photograph is a beautiful thing. But we don’t realize that the memories are better.
A few years ago, I took a couple of hours to gather pictures of him lying around the house into one single box, just in case I needed them – say, for example, to show my friends where I come from or to see if I resemble him more as I age. And every once in a while since then, if for no other reason, I would look through them to keep the memory of his face alive in my mind. Last night was the first time in over a year that I have looked at “him”.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Looking at a picture of my dad is very different from merely thinking about him. I realize I don’t always get it right. I knew when I was in the hospital with him that this day would come. I usually look up, I realized, slightly above eye level, and tilt my chin upwards when I think of my dad. It’s never a particular image that comes to mind, but perhaps it’s just the thought of him that keeps it fresh.
“I look like my dad..” I told my friend.
I cried, but quietly enough that only my friend on the other line could tell. I sat on the floor of my mom’s room and sifted through the differently sized photographs with my left hand – my friend in my right keen enough to return my silence with hers. I looked up to the ceiling at one point to take a break, realizing that it’s difficult to look at my dad’s face without reliving the loss of him. It’s a complicated emotion – one that is much easier now after 12 years, but still one that takes me by surprise. One that takes an effort to move in and then out of again. Yet recovery from such a thing isn’t necessarily a goal.
Do we ever recover from losing a parent, a spouse, a child, or a friend? Or do we learn to balance the tension and gravity of those moments while forcing ourselves to look forward?
Reconciling the absence of a person, whether gone or here, is a common pain we all share. A distant home and family, a distant friend, a distant lover. And yes, we can long for distant things and distant lands, but those things and lands are populated by human faces. We only truly miss our own. Missing an ocean or a cityscape is much different from missing a person’s laugh or a person’s being. Even a simple squeeze of the hand or the weight of a hug is worth a thousand mountains.
Revisiting that part of life – loss – is a healing moment each time we go back. We lose the clarity of specifics (something we hate to admit) while gaining a greater appreciation for the whole of a person. And in some way, their death becomes the impetus to celebrate their life. A reason to look backwards and in between with joy and tenderness; a motivation to look forward with hope and peace. As time passes, we do begin to remember the joy of the person in place of the terror of losing them. Life becomes the focus, and death becomes less scary – a lesser enemy. And so, life can’t end with death. And neither can we allow the reality of death around us to blind us to the abundance of life that surrounds us. A photograph is a wonderful thing, but learning to relish the life of a person is a lesson we oftentimes learn the hard way.
Just as a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him. For He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust. As for man, his days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. When the wind has passed over it, it is no more, and its place acknowledges it no longer. But the lovingkindness of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him, and His righteousness to children’s children, to those who keep His covenant and remember His precepts to do them.
Psalm 103:13-18
Peace.
