Every Picture Has A Story

They say that every picture has a story. Think of all of the photographs that we see every day. National media, local news, Facebook, Instagram and countless other social media outlets flood us daily with images. Some have captions to give a brief description of the main narrative of the event. Some are published without words, leaving the viewer to surmise the story solely on what they can see from that one brief capture of time. 

Every picture has a story. Some tell many stories. 

This photograph has many stories that aren't apparent on first glance. This shot could be captioned "Three generations enjoying a beautiful summer's evening." That is true, but it is not anywhere close to the full story, or even the most important story from the evening.  But the important stories need to be shared, nonetheless. Because these are stories of healing and progress and love and small steps.

The day this picture was taken was a hard day, similar to the dozens of days before it. It was made harder by the fact that this was the day that I had to pick up the report of the autopsy that was performed on my father 5 weeks earlier. I had to sift through all of the medical jargon to find the words that would give me the answer to why my dad was suddenly gone from my life. The answer was there, and even though not a complete surprise, it still involved more processing from my tired brain and broken heart.

That evening as I walked up the steps to drop something off at the kid's house, they were heading out the door to go for a walk at the riverfront and take some pictures of River to document his 7th month. Being ever thoughtful of me, they invited me to come along, hoping that it would distract me for a bit. I hesitated. Was I up to it? It had been such a long, hard day. But they insisted and I made a choice. I knew there were things I needed to be doing to promote health and healing, such as exercise and getting out of the house, so I grabbed my keys and headed with them. Small steps.

It was a lovely night in Newburgh and as we walked and talked, I could feel the tension in my body easing. As we attempted to get a squirmy, inquisitive, never-still-for-a-minute 7 month old crazy boy to pose for a picture, and smile at the same time, I laughed and thanked God for the evening. Healing.

Then my daughter did a crazy thing. She suggested, no, insisted, that she and I join in the photo session. Of course, I immediately started in with a litany of reasons why I didn't want to be in the pictures. The top of these reasons was that I had been cleaning house all afternoon, was in grungy clothes, had not a drop of makeup on and my hair hadn't seen a brush since the very early morning hours. She stopped me before I could get the last words out by looking me straight in the eye, saying "Mom, we said we weren't going to do this. We were going to start being present in the pictures and in life and stop worrying if our hair is right or how we look in clothes. We are here, together. Let's do this." So we did. This was a big step for both of us. To put aside our constant self-consciousness and be present in the moment. Progress.

This will be a memory I will always hold. It was hilarious - remember, squirmy baby. It was refreshing - there were no bad memories or haunting reminders there, only nature and fresh air. It was full of love - them for me, mine for them. LOVE.

So, when I look at this picture, I don't see the disheveled grandmother with her daughter and grandson, captured at just the right moment. I see an evening where my healing began, where we chose to be present in life, where I was surrounded by love and blessings, where life was busy weaving it's many stories together in that one moment.

(And for your viewing entertainment, I am adding a few of the 3 million outtakes that my wonderful son (in-law) had to sift through.)