The Kodak paper envelope with its signature yellow color is as familiar as my reflection once was. And I feel my heart sink just a little when I realize there is not one picture of me in the 36 images from the developed role.
It was 17 years ago.
Other than I was the one with the camera, and the month was December, there isn’t much I can tell you about that night.
There are no tell-tale clues that would help me read what my mood was; fatigue, joy —even youthfulness—all must have been part of it because Chandler was just days old.
Did I even think about my age—or the ages of my husband and children—then?
I highly doubt it.
No – I bet the only thing on my mind was taking pictures. Something, anything, that would pass for holiday card material. You know the kind, they belie the frantic effort made by the photographer to capture three wiggly kids before the baby grew restless again.
I know she had cried earlier because there is a photo. A time-worn image that reveals the curled-under newborn lips and her face so bright with outrage it’s as if I can hear her wails even now.
Yet the room is silent. And the reality is I can’t recall the last time I heard or saw her cry.
As if swiping the back of my hand across my eyes could rewind the clock, I pause until I can see through my tear-rimmed lids.
Once I can, I focus on Jimmy.
There he is, frozen at 33, Chandler cradled in his arms, Max and Kodiak by his side, they too, are arrested in time. His expression reminds me that even then, he knew we’d be together for life.
I close my eyes against the past and picture him now. How lovely that what I see is his smile.
Again my eyes return to the images, and I pull myself from the well-worn carpeted floor and clear space on my desk. Then, the way one might deal cards, with a snap, I place the pictures onto the wood-table-top face-up.
I had no idea how fast the years would speed past—of course people said they would—I didn’t believe them.
They stare back at me now, my children, halted in all their youth.
And in the way an archeologist might scour the dirt while digging, I examine them. As if sketched on tracing paper — I now see bits of the people they are today in each of their faces.
Back then, I couldn’t picture what time would later sculpt into the jawlines of my son’s boyish faces, nor the intensity that would pierce my daughter’s eyes.
No. My children simply were.
Happily, I was not able to encumber their innocence with all that living brings.
With some effort, I root through the box marked, old pictures, until I find one of me from that time and add it to the flipped up photos.
What time would unfold all these years later at the edges of my eyes and lips eluded the camera and me.
There are moments now where I catch a glimpse of my reflection; a backward camera feature intended for selfies, a bathroom mirror, the car window, even sometimes the screen of my laptop – each leaves me wondering when I began to look more like my mother and less like me.
I reach for my iPad and pull up pictures of our last family portrait. In the glow of the digital photographs, I marvel over how we all look now.
And I love the now, just as I loved the then.
I see curiosity, playfulness, love, wonder, and even pain, all etched and carved in places across our smiling faces—this is now, oh how I celebrate it—.lines and all.
Slowly I pull the 4 x 6 images of that night into a neat stack – and though it won’t be the last time – in a flash, 1997 is back inside its envelope.
And with the past tucked away, I am reminded that life is a series of moments, each when stitched together, reveal this extraordinary thing we call living.
Cherish the now.
You and your writing never disappoint Elin. You have this rare and oh so welcome ability to make me see the whole scene, almost in 3-d, as I read your work. And there is always one line that I know will stick with me for a very long time in each piece. This time there were a several but especially this:
“And I love the now…just as I loved the then.”
Thank you, Ruth…
Lovely. Never once in taking pictures did I think, I will look back at these years from now. I was just capturing the moment then. Now I know if I want to edit out a picture of me because I don’t like the way I look I know 10 or 15 years from now I’ll not think that at all and think I don’t look too bad.
Exactly. And in the end we have so much more to fill our hearts with then what we look like in a given moment. Thank you, Haralee.
Such a candid view of the passage of time. I see my now five-and-a-half year old daughter blossoming before my eyes. I see the precursor of the preteen she will be before I know it. Yes, the years go by so fast, which is why we must savor each moment.
To savor is exactly the right action, thank you Estelle.
I can see all this through your eyes Elin. Thoughtfully written and provocative. Thank you.
Hi Margaret, thank you, I am glad you enjoyed my musing.
“I had no idea how fast the years would speed past—of course people said they would—I didn’t believe them.” No truer words have ever been written.
Ha, I remember thinking while seemingly up to my elbows in the changing of diapers and sleep deprivation that people were nuts to say it zipped past…hindsight is always crystal clear.
Beautiful, Elin. I can spend days and days going through my photo closet. I have an entire CLOSET devoted to boxes for each year. And each time I pull one out, I feel just as you describe here, especially THIS heart-tugging sentiment: “And I love the now…just as I loved the then.” Truly a lovely post.
Thank you, Lisa.
It’s so hard to part with those photographic memories, but I am going to have to part with some of mine as they are out of control.
I know! It is hard, I need to do the same….
That was so beautifully written. It took me back over 30 years ago when my children were both tots. It’s scary how reading this made me feel the time that has so quickly passed by…like a thief in the night. I think I’ll choose to forget that for now. Now, is the time to sleep and dream.
Yes…like a thief in the night…so true.
What I love about this….well, so much. It is the grace with which you write, the elegance that flows through your writing. So beautiful, so touching. It actually makes me a touch sad ( but in a good way, if that makes sense), thinking of my own old photos inn the same sweet light.
I totally get what you mean by “sad in a good way.” I think there is a lot to be said for digging in and affording ourselves the space to feel the passage of time in a way that honors it –with that comes a sweet sadness. I believe it is more the idea that the only way to go back is through the mind versus touch. Thanks for your nice comment, Lisa.
Sorry about the typo…in ( not inn)….in my previous comment. Lol.
😉 xo
Elin, this post is so beautiful. You captured exactly how I feel when I look at old photos of my kids. Parenting is so bittersweet, but I am so grateful everyday for the blessings of motherhood.
Thank you so much for your nice comment, Pat.