I have over 600 pictures on my computer that need to be printed. After spending an hour sorting through them all and uploading the ones I wanted to Snapfish, I somehow managed to delete the whole album. Minutes from picture printing success, I am now back to exactly where I started wondering if I should go through the process again or call it a day.
We take alot of pictures. I mean ALOT of pictures. My husband likes to capture every possible moment either on film or in video and we often walk around an air show or a school function with two or three picture devices. His thought is that after someone is gone all we have left is memories and pictures. I can totally respect that. The problem is that he taks soooo many pictures I often spend hours sorting and uploading the digital pics and then deleting the whole album just like I did this morning.
Several years ago I took up "scrapbooking". I am not particularly creative with my hands but I enjoy the "girl time" with friends at a "crop" and I really love to look at the finished books with my kids. I made an album for my husband for all of his police academy things, an album full of our trip to Walt Disney World, a baby book for each of the boys and just so many other pages of pictures yet to be designated to an album that I lost count. Like I said, I am not particularly good at scrapbooking. What I enjoy most is going through the pictures; the memories of holidays, camping trips, days at the beach. All the moments that have made my life so worth living.
A couple of years ago my mom went through all her old photos and passed on to each of us an evelope of pictures from our youth. After I marveled at how darned cute I was as a baby, it was amazing to me how much I remembered about each of those pictures and I was grateful that my parents enjoyed picture taking as much as we do.
I haven't scrapbooked anything in a while. I tried to pull together some pictures of my dad and create a memory book for the kids but I didn't get past sorting the photos before I broke down in tears and shoved them all back into an envelope. I will do it one day though, I have promised myself and my kids. The boys need a place they can go to remember the great man that they called Grampa.
Some of you know that I am an aspiring novelist. I have completed several novels over the past decade, queried hundreds of agents and even had one project signed with an agent for about a year that never actually sold to a publisher. Lately I have focused more on blogging and the freelance work I do for an internet site that actually pays me a little money. Along the way however, I have been working on a new little project that I hope to one day see in print. Not to make me famous or rich but for my family. It is a fiction story based on the true life of my father- from his childhood, to the time he spent in Vietnam to his struggles with chronic illness as an adult. It is about a man who suddenly discovers he has only six weeks to live and during that time his entire life "passes before him" as he prepares for his departure from this world. In the weeks prior to his death, Dad and I talked alot. Actually, he talked alot- sharing stories of his youth. I realized that he had quite a life story to tell. A life story of an average man who had done some pretty great things that might actually touch the lives of other ordinary, average people. At the very least, my boys, my niece and my nephew could one day read about and get to know the man that was their grandfather.
I have let a couple of people read a portion of this work and they tell me that I might be on to something. I dson't know if I am or if I am not but I have to say that the whole process has been extrememly therapeutic. I have gotten to know my dad on a different level than I had when he was alive. Through the stories he told me, old letter and narrations my mom has shared with me and even the war stories he told my husband, I have gotten to know the man behind the dad. It's been pretty amazing and has gone along way in my mourning process.
My oldest son is attending a "summer enrichment program" this week and next. Basically it is "nerd" summer school and I am so proud of him for being selected to attended! He packed his backpack with a snack, drink box and his prized lime green calculator (just in case he has to calculate something!). Both this morning and yesterday he was up, dressed and ready to go before I even managed to roll out of bed.
The focus of their research for the next two weeks is value. The value of money, things, people, history, etc. Yesterday for homework we discussed what each of us value, where our ancestors came from and family connections. It made me believe even more strongly that my project is worthwhile if for no other reason than to document the value of a man's life, no matter how insignificant others may believe it is. Scrapbooks, too are a way to show the value of memories; how much the time we spend with loved ones means not only to us but to those we share our lives with.
I know scrapbooking and blogging and writing novels isn't for everyone. But, preserving memories and keeping loved ones close to our heart should be. One of my biggest regrets in life goes back to when I was a teenager. I used to spend time with my great grandmother, we all called her G.G., in the summer. She would tell me amazing stories about growing up at the turn of the century. One of my favorites was of my great grandfather. He worked for the coal mines in Pennsylvania as a conductor on a train that transported the coal out of the mines to the processing areas. In the evening, as he made his last delivery of the day, he blow the train's whistle two times in short succession to signal to my G.G. that he was on his way home to supper. If I had taken the time to write down some of her oral history, I could have created a journal of the life of a great woman. I regret that I let all off that ancestry go unheeded.
Take the time to listen to each other when you talk. Pay attention to the tiny details that make up who a person is. When they are gone from this earth, all that will remain are the memories you have.
Like the last paragraph.
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