I had thought to show you that in spite of it all I’m still capable of creating beauty, but the truth is that all I can think is how much Shel, ever my photography mentor, would have liked this photo that I took after venturing to the grocery store yesterday. I could be thinking “wow, bag full of beauty” or “awesome, best flower shot ever” or something more upbeat, but today I’ve been on such a sad trip in the way-back machine that Shel is the only thing on my mind.
I’ve been gathering photos to use for a little slideshow at his memorial, and a few are mind-boggling. Was his hair ever that red? When was the last time we looked as young and happy as we do in our wedding photos, given that we were both over 40 when we married? Was Shel ever that big, sturdy, smiling guy? Try as I might, I can’t conjure up a real memory of those times, even with the photographic evidence in front of me. My mind’s eye is filled with images of him at the end, frail, drawn, and suffering.
I spend as much time as possible looking at flowers, since my house and garden are full of them, and looking at the water and the sky. Before Shel died I used to tell myself “Everything will still be here afterwards, the house, the garden, the water, the sky, the kitties, only one thing will be missing: the most important thing.” And indeed I forecast it correctly, absent Shel it’s all still here, but today I feel his absence more than the presence of the whole rest of the world.
There was a veritable light show of rainbows so intense that I could hear the neighbors exclaiming from several doors down, but the one voice I wanted to hear (probably saying “straighten that camera out!”) is the one I’ll never hear again.
Yesterday I had a calm and peaceful day, today I’m tormented. I guess that 50-50 is about par for this course.French Letters Visits America comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.