A photo had caught my attention as I got up from my work desk this afternoon. I stored this photo ontop of a four-tier shelf style-type drawer. In the early weeks of December I recalled I had turned the dual frame over because, well, it was the Christmas season. While glancing at this photo, I remembered my mom left this photo for us to compile in her slideshow earlier this year. Then a heavy ache in my heart started to set in as I continued to stare at it. Where did this women go, and why is she always hiding behind the camera?
I carefully put my hands on the frame and took the magnetic glass pieces apart. Afterall, during the wake of the funeral, many of the photographs vanished like water down the drain. Relatives came and gone and helped themselves with pieces of mom’s memory with them. I was able to savage a few photos and saved it in between another photo. I noticed her written number, #87, on the back side of the photo. It stood for her chosen photos for her slideshow, her home-going slideshow. 87 of 120 photos, with four full songs of mom’s love ‘wrapping’ the photo slideshow. That’s definitely my mother’s request.
I couldn’t help but sniff the scent of the photo to see if it was alive. And my tears fell. The odor of mom lingered like a piece of her was tucked in there between the thinned-cracked photograph film paper. Like a faded memory, oh mom, where are you?
I’m sitting here blogging this as I reminisce back to that childhood era. Mom. Dad. Grandma. I sit here in the salon as my oldest gets her hair done for our long-awaited Disney Cruise, happening this week. I sit here as my youngest anxiously cries out in boredom and my husband impatiently messages me, “Are you guys done?”
The mom behind the lense is no ordinary mom. She’s the one at the salon when her four year old is crying boredom, she is the mother that tolerates long awaited hair appointments, “couple hours for that color to sit ma’am. It’s called a balayage” warns the stylist.
In many of my childhood, the pictures we get is of eachother but never with mom. She’s too busy to care about inserting herself first so she’s making memories for her children. Is the camera sitting right or is the shutter speed set correctly? She’s the one making sure our outfit matches, and she’s the one focusing her lense in our lives making sure she’s raising good sons and daughters…
Mom, its finally Christmas somewhere. However, the salon is playing, Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven, you must of known, I’m here.
I sure hope Christmas is much more fun in Heaven than it is here on earth. Afterall, Jesus is the reason! And ultimately you would know!
Will we get to see the the famous life photographer again? How I would have love to shift the lense of time and tell you all the details of what you missed out by going to Heaven so soon.. I know there’s a bigger Christmas party up there. God’s got you where He want you to be. Take a selfie mom. Set up that tripod and stack up those photo album to brag to us, mom. It’s been way too long!
Merry Christmas mom. I Miss You, cause I know I don’t belong here in Heaven.
let's mangle 