The past couple of weeks I have been going through hundreds of pictures, maybe even thousands by the time that I am done. Both sets of my Grandparents have passed, and they had large families. In the course of a lifetime we tend to collect a lot of pictures. Technology has changed where everything now is digital, although in my Grandparents lifetime they didn't have the option until the later years, and still when the "Digital Age" came, they didn't seem to find the need to need it. There is something that seems to be lost with digital cameras. Yes, it is convenient, and it does curb any photos that you may not like of yourself being in mainstream by the simple click of the "Trash" button, although there is something that I find fascinating about actually holding pictures. My father had a brother named Duane that passed away I believe when he was four years old of cancer. I knew of Duane growing up, Grandma always had his picture in "The Front Room". Going through these four totes of pictures today, I called my aunt today and was like "Why the hell did they take pictures of caskets back then". I guess it was the norm, kinda glad that was phased out. I looked at his closed casket in the cemetery and felt this deep sorrow that I have never felt before when I thought of him. I seen his picture hundreds of times, and never maybe actually associated him when the sense of loss that I do right now. How can I be grieving over the loss of an uncle that died many years before I was born. I wonder what he was like, was he like most 4 year olds, was he like Nolan who climbed everything and anything, or was he like Hannah who "could do everything all by herself". My father and Duane were the only children born when Duane died. So now I feel this sense of guilt when it comes to my dad losing a brother. I lost a brother and why do I feel that my pain is more profound than my fathers, or why do I even question if my father still feels pain when it comes to Duane? Dad was just a child too. If anything I feel such an intense emotion of anger right now, and I am sad for my dad. I would call my dad right now and tell him that I am so sorry that he lost Duane when he did, however dad would put the phone down and yell to mom, "Soots she is drinking again", so to avoid any interventions I am going to write about it?? I am serious though. My dad was around 2 when Duane died. It was those two with Grandma and Grandpa. Think of 2 kids ages 2 and 4, and how they would play together all of the time, and then one day one is never coming back. It makes me sad, really sad. I can't say that I don't think of Duane though, I actually think of Duane every time that I cut onions. I remember hearing a story about my Grandma standing over the kitchen sink crying knowing that there was nothing more that could be done for Duane. Grandma was crying, and Duane was in the front room playing and he said, "Whats wrong momma are you cutting onions?", so every time I cut onions I think of that. I use to think primarily of Grandma knowing the fate of Duane, but after today I will think of that little boy who was my uncle. Going through all of these pictures I have learned many things. It is quite the task, don't get me wrong. My living room floor and tables have been scattered with envelopes, boxes, albums, ect. I divide all of the pictures in categories based upon siblings, and then there is some random piles of other family members, then Grandma and Grandpas pictures, and then the "I don't know pile", all of the pictures are scanned, and put on CD's, and then pictures and CD's are given to the sibling's, and the other ones are sent and handed out. I enjoy doing it, but it is in some ways emotionally exhausting. Looking at each picture, and so many of them bring back memories of my childhood, each memory staying with me for seconds or lasting throughout the entire day. Looking at the picture of Aric with the spiked hair and the neon orange stripes on each side of his head, laughing and then remember when that style was in. Remembering Carolyn's Clippers in Oklee where he got it done. Then there is the picture of me in this purple sweater, I think back to the picture day mom wanted me to wear that sweater, I bucked it. I wore the sweater to school but when I got to school I changed into a red and white stripped button down for pictures thinking that "My mom wouldn't know". Looking back at it, how dumb could I be? This was SCHOOL PICTURES! So needless to say it brings me then to the memory of showing my mom the pictures in the what was then her sewing room, and her getting mad at me. This continues on for most of the pictures where I have memories of. What makes me sad is the pile of "unknown" pictures. Yes dads siblings will go through them and tell me who is who, however there is always a picture of two that no one knows who they are. A black and white photo of a lady standing against a horse with what seems no cares in the world, a young boy playing with a dog. Was this my Grandma, my great uncle, or maybe my dad? No one will know, so I ask you all this. Write on the back of your pictures. Maybe your mom is in a nursing home or still at home in failing health. Sometimes when you go over there you have nothing to talk about, or maybe their memory is failing. Take out the pictures and go through the ones that don't have names on the back, get them talking about their childhood. If you don't know your parents story, how will your children? Maybe your parent's aren't alive, but maybe their siblings are. I can tell you that what may seem like "A LOT" of work, can actually turn into a lot of fun. I am fortunate that some of the pictures have names on the back, and I can recognize a lot too. When it comes to putting the names on mine, I might just put Kelly or Emily's name on mine from the ages of 9-21. I had an ugly phase in my life that lasted longer than most of the rest of the human population. Bottom line write on the back of your pictures, you may recognize you in your baby pictures, but let me ask you this. Will your Grandchildren?
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