When our loved ones are grown, or gone, or both...what do we have left by which to cherish them?
Why is it that in case of fire, the first over which we weep are the photographs? (Or is that just me?)
It seems that our loves are linked by our senses. You know, it's the sight of tears shed on your wedding day. The touch of your husband tracing the small of your back. It's the smell of your newborn's hair as she snuggles against your skin. And the sound of your toddler giggling as he plays.
When the wedding is over, the children are grown, and the husband is gone...we have nothing left to smell, touch, hear and see...
...Except what we see in a photograph.
And then we can still see and touch and remember.
And that's why I do what I do.
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| My big man and little man, fast asleep after a hard day sledding. |
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