I am thankful for the photo--not any photo in particular--just the technological marvel that is the recording of still life.
Whether on paper or as a digital file, the photo stands for all time as a moment frozen in time. A moment, that like a snowflake or a fingerprint, happens only once and is unrepeatable.
We can look back at these moments and our memory fills in the gaps. I look at a picture of me in my high school band uniform from 35 years ago, and suddenly I'm marching on the bright football field at half time. The blinding lights and adrenaline of performing keep me warm against the crisp fall air. I can feel the weight and the itchiness of the heavy wool uniform. The soft, grassy turf squishes under my spats-covered shoes as I count "1...2...3...4...5...6...7...hit it." The strap of the hat constricts under my chin, and I still wonder all these years later why I thought that perm was a good idea. Did anyone really fall for the joke that the plume in their hat was backwards? Lamentably, I never did figure out how to play the clarinet and march at the same time.
The fact that one photo can evoke such vivid images and feelings is incredible and a true testament to how much our brains really absorb and retain.
Thankful isn't a powerful enough word for how I feel about the fact that my mom was an avid photographer of any and every moment. The tubs, boxes, and myriad of photo albums contain enough evidence of my life that there are actually very few gaps that need filling.
Looking at photos of mom now that she's gone is bittersweet. I am so thankful I have pictures of her to look at and help me remember days gone by, but it also makes me sad that she is no longer here. Unfortunately, there are many unlabeled pictures that only she would be able to identify.
"When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change."
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