A thought or two about an old photo, love, parenting
His dad has been gone a year and a half now. Son brought a photo with him to his apartment in college, and mentioned ‘I’m going to frame it.’ In this photo son is about two and a half and looking happy, standing next to his deep-in-thought dad, who is already in his late sixties. They are looking out over a pond with ducks, in a favorite Japanese garden.
When I visit him, I notice the photo is now in a simple white frame on the counter, where he sees it as soon as he walks in every day. Where he puts his books and key.
There aren’t too many photos of me and son. A few ‘selfies’ together, a couple that I had specifically asked to be taken — or else there wouldn’t be any. Dad did not have a camera habit.
I look at the photo and think “I remember the day, the mood.” “Wish we could have one more day together like that.” To catch up Dad on what has happened, how son is now in design class, how his flying lessons are progressing. A few questions to ask, maybe.
I’m not in that photo — but you know what? I AM in that photo. I’m the one who took it. I took it to capture the hour: to be sure that Son always had proof of how his dad loved him and spent time with him, as long as he could. And now, the photo is fulfilling its exact intended purpose, a moment that lives on, via the counter in his college apartment. A gift to father and son. You, older one, will not be forgotten. You, young one, were loved from the beginning.
🌹
We were split, mostly, more or less, around eleven years ago — but we loved each other to the end. As a family we did not split. As individuals we had our breaches, but luckily managed to love our way around them or past them, and in the end, built bridges over them. Not possible for many, I know.
A good father to the end.
Now we are separated in a different way, because we are unable to write or talk on the phone to those in the great beyond. Son and I struggle with what to think about this, an uncertainty principle that governs our mortal lives. Miracle upon miracle exists embedded in the secrets of the universe, discovered week after week in DNA and particle physics and the relativity of time. Could it be possible we are the tips of an iceberg and each has a presence not only in the hours that we live through above the water but in an outside-of-time space, where all is light and energy? Don’t tell me that there are no souls and memories in the aftertime, either, because there could just as easily be all souls and all memory, in such a space.
I don’t give up on such a Big Hope. No one knows, and I shall be — or, shall choose to be — uncharacteristically optimistic. Reverberations echo in strange ways, and the patterns repeat themselves intricately all the way down the Mandelbrot set. So don’t tell me that you know it isn’t so.
Take pictures, take care.
Peace.
= new reply since forum marked as read
👋 I see you. 
I appreciate your comment.
A couple of days ago my oldest son called me. We really don't talk often for various reasons. He had COVID, so he had some extra time on his hands, and we talked for a while.
I had mentioned some changes I was making in reference to assets, and I guess I must have said something to the effect of "I need the capital." I didn't really think about it.
The next day he called me again, and I immediately thought something must be wrong because he generally doesn't call for a while after we've talked. He was worried about my finances and said he had some money saved up, and wanted to send it to me. He had been saving so he could make a trip to see his dad, but his dad died before he got to go. He said I had helped him out years ago when he was on the verge of being homeless by sending him money to cover his rent, and now he could help me out.
I had to tell him repeatedly that I really am fine. I have a ways to go before i have to live in a cardboard box under a bridge.
This is the kid of mine who never seemed to have any inclination to "step up" and help. Both of my other sons have made it clear that I am always welcome in their homes.
I got a little choked up about it after the call. Maybe I didn't do such a bad job raising him after all.
