Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Me and my dad
Laval, QC, August 2009
I've been avoiding looking at pictures of my father because, to be honest, it's been hard. Just when I think I've reached a point where I think I'm fine, I encounter a trigger and suddenly I realize I'm not there yet. The other night it was an innocent comment from another parent when I picked my daughter up from a friend's house. Then it was a particular tune that came up on my iPod as I drove home from work. It could be anything, really. It pops into my head, and then I'm sad.
But I realize I can't avoid it forever. At some point I have to start reviewing and processing the images that have sat unseen on my backup drive, gathering virtual dust since that awful day last September.
That "some point" came, haltingly, earlier this evening. I was flipping through some folders when, without planning or warning, my mouse stopped on this one. It was taken just over a month before he died. He passed away so suddenly that none of us got a chance to say goodbye. Perhaps as a means of preparing myself, I had taken countless pictures of him and my mom over the past number of years. Because we never knew if and when, and I didn't want to be left with nothing tangible. Photos are such concrete memories to me that I felt an archive of views of my parents would bring me comfort someday.
I don't think I can honestly say they bring me comfort, even now. Five months later, it's still too new, too raw. But even if I don't look at them - look at him - all that often or at all, it brings me a strange sense of peace simply knowing that I have them. Maybe someday...