Photograph

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My oldest daughter recently pointed out, "You sure have been taking a lot of pictures with us kids lately, mom."  She's right, I really have been taking a lot of pictures, not only with the kids but also of myself.  Why?  Well, why not?  After all, if something were to happen tomorrow that took me suddenly from this life, I wouldn't get another day.  I would not have more time to get in a few shots of us having fun or being serious.  My kids would have a few of me, sure, but mostly they would have the heavy burden of the responsibility to remember me in their minds.  That's hard to do.  Harder, in fact, than it sounds.  I can see her face, but I cannot tell you of any laugh lines.  I remember her wide-set eyes, but I cannot recall their color, their depth.  I have but three or four photographs of my mother and I together.  For my kids, I would like to leave them with books of pictures, just of me and them.  That is my goal, at this point.  But three or four?  That isn't enough to shake a stick at.  That just won't cut it, especially when they are lonesome.  Especially when their hearts are broken.  And especially not when they need to talk to their momma. 

Sure, through the years a few relatives have mailed gallon-sized Ziploc bags with pictures of her inside.  You know, as mementos.  Something to look at, some wild and tangible thing to hold onto.  Something I can certainly never get back.  My breath quickens when I happen upon one of those bags, too, under the bed or stashed away in a drawer, forgotten all over again.  My heart beats fast as I carefully remove the pictures of her to look at.  But there really are only three or four with just she and I, alone.  

As smart as she was, I hate to admit My Mother was a smoker.  I have 5 or 6 pictures of her taking what looks to be like a big drag off a white cigarette, long and fancy, just like her.  Actually, she herself was short, but her intentions were long; her pauses, too.  I do remember that about her.  Those pictures looked intentional and provocative, almost like she planned how to hold her mouth for the best camera angle to lock her into time.  She smoked Benson & Hedges, always.  They looked as expensive as they sounded, and I loved to pick up the opened package in the console and breathe in that papery, earthy smell that is unburned tobacco.  When she wasn't looking, of course.  She'd run into the Texaco for a minute for a can of Tab, and there I would be, just hanging out in the front seat, unbuckled, and be-bopping to whatever happened to be on the radio. 

We really liked Crystal Gayle back then.  Her hair was a sight, and I think that is why I liked that gal so much.  I could not make myself decide if it looked like a horse's tail, swishing back and forth, or if it was a concerted effort on her part to have healthy, long locks as her very "brand."  At night, after bath, I'd tightly affix a bath towel the size of a sheet to my head and the white terrycloth just like magic became my hair.  Just like that.  I would flip it behind my shoulders and grab a hair brush and just go to town.  'Baby, What About You' was always my favorite, and boy, I'd belt it out in front of my bathroom mirror.  My mom was my biggest fan, too.  She'd sit on the foot of her bed she had made hours earlier, or in that big wicker chair with the red cushion we had that was shaped like a goose egg, and she'd listen to me as she kept time with my voice, tapping her hand rhythmically on her leg:
"I don't really think I'm crazy for taking my time
I'm just looking for the answers I've gotta find
They say it's gonna be a long hard ride
Baby what about you..."
...And we had so much fun.  We got along well together, she and I.  It was me and her against the world.  Or else, it should have been.  

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Yes, there have been several occasions I have enjoyed taking photographs with my children.  I can honestly say that I am the first to weed out the horrible ones of myself, even if I do think the kids are crazy cute in a shot or two.  While I am doing better about not being a perfectionist when it comes to this, admittedly, I still do it. I want them to remember me as my best self, not the mom with bags under her eyes who looks like she is in renal failure, or worse, homeless.  I have lately been trying to take more pictures with my kids because, well, it is enjoyable. Usually, we wind up laughing or, if I am squatting down low, I lose my balance and fall backward, setting off a whole contagion of laughter, like The Wave at a high school football game.  I am slowly uploading snapshots to different customization sites online (think Shutterfly and Chatbooks) so that I can have them printed and shipped to my home.  I want to keep them for my kids,  You know, just in case.  Tomorrow is never promised, but I want each of them to know that I was thinking of their futures.  They look at Pictures With Mom as a time to roll their eyes and make annoying duck faces or flash that so-overused peace sign, but one day they will hopefully see what I see:  A mother who loves her babies in all their many moods and through all their complexities and twisty turns in their young, innocent souls.  

I look back at photos of My Mother with a little sadness, but only because of how much I miss her.  I try to think about what she must have felt back then.  You know, who she wanted to be and what she wished for her OWN young life.  As I examine photographs of her, I am searching her face and her eyes for answers.  I have yet to find the answers, but she sure was pretty, and I can't hardly look away.  There was something there that I am obviously not privileged enough to know yet, but there definitely was something.  I am thankful for the invention of the camera and, now, for the technology that has evolved into everything available to us today to capture images of our loved ones.  Indefinitely, if we wish.  

​So, yes.  My selfies with my kids will continue.  I want to try and look my very best in them, but if not, no sweat.  No biggie.  My theory is that at least they will be able to see The Real Me, the mom I truly am to them right now, and will try to continue to be, in the years to come.  We will never, ever have the privilege to relive this day, this hour, this minute, or even this second.  And sooner rather than later, time seems to speed up as those seconds develop into minutes develop into hours develop into days develop into weeks develop into months, all coming together to form years.  It goes faster and faster, the older I grow.  I'm 41, and in just a few short years my kids will be graduating from high school, college, getting married or not, and having kids or not.  Time does not slow us down.  Only we slow us down.  Having said that, hear this:  It's going to go by anyway, so why not make the best of what we can, and go ahead and get in on photo opportunities with the ones in our lives whom we love?  That's right.  Why not.

After all...that silly photo montage we took out in the grass the other day might just serve as a big 'ol glorious cushion of comfort for our children later on in their lives.  I refuse to deny them that part of me any longer.  I've done quite enough of that, thankyouverymuch, and because if I can't be there physically for them, I at least want to leave something for them that nurtures some basic part of their beautiful souls.  ​

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