Old Photos

I copied a disk filled with very old family photos. And I see that once, my parents were happy. And happy together. In love, even. And then, slowly, almost ghostlike, my father is gone. From the pictures and from our home. What happened, I wonder? Did the shine wear off? Did we somehow diverge from his expectations of childhood? Was it simply because we are female? Sometimes I think that in the everyday fight to provide for his family, he forgot to nurture his own. Making a living isn't the same as making a life. Or so I'm told by a church billboard.

But my mother. Was always there. She is the reason I am, and the reason I am who I am, for better or worse. Even the hang-ups and the quirks are a connection, a reassurance that there is someone out there who will always open her doors to me, but more importantly will always open her heart.

But don't be fooled. She's not a pushover by any means. Let's just say ... my mother has stared into the abyss, and the abyss flinched. I want to be a mother just like her. I hope one day Cameron will look at this and tell me, "Yes, Mom. You were." That will be the greatest honor of my life.