A few months ago, pictures on the sidebar of this blog appeared quietly and without fanfare. They sit there, waiting to be scrolled through, telling silent stories in color and form. I like to imagine what I would think of if I saw these pictures on another blog; Who is that child and why does he personify strength?
Some of them are simple: "Family Is" is our family Christmas photo from a few years ago. I don't think another photo could adequately describe our dynamics quite so much as this one, with Dad's leg raised in a wonderful show of poise, our family reacting around him. "Life Is" isn't a statement of where my life comes from, but simply the photo in my library where I felt most alive at its moment of capture: on the couch in Alaska about a year ago, laughing with Kip at some joke that neither of us can remember, or perhaps just grinning at being together.
One photo that I absolutely adore is the one for love.
These are my grandparents on Mom's side and when I think of a couple in love, I think of them. I'm sure it's been romanticized over the years, but the story goes that they met in the space between their backyards looking at the bunnies in a hutch when he was six and she was four. Time went, they grew, and years later we get these pictures, taken during their engagement. They loved each other, even up until the very end when Grammy had Alzheimer's and Grampa got sick. Years later, Grammy's funeral, sad as it was, had a tangible air of joy to it. It was as if we all had silently agreed to rejoice in the fact that Grammy and Grampa were together again, and surely that was a greater joy than the sorrow at our loss.
This is the kind of love story that people write books about.