Lots of pictures. No apologies. No regrets. Just memories.

I take a lot of pictures of me and my son. Of the things we do. A lot. I have thousands on my phone (mental note: back up phone, print photos). And I have zero apologies to make for stopping to take them.

I do not have the "first time sitting up, rolling over, crawling, walking, day of school," etc. moments to recall but I have "first time ironing clothes, making cookies from scratch, day at work, visit to Disney," etc. memories. As an adoptive family our memories began the day we became a family...the day after my son turned 11. Again, I make no apologies and I've no regrets. I photo-document everything I can remember to.

And I'll tell you the real reason:

almost seven years ago my dad died suddenly. He was here one day and gone the next morning. Poof. Lifeless. Expired. Gone. No further memory-making-moments to be shared. Only a future filled with memories. And pictures.

During the visitation I remember sitting with my aunt Gaila looking at the photo slide show thing-a-ma-jigger (I don't even recall who got the pictures or how this got made but somehow it did) and I broke down. I wept. And mourned that we won't have anymore pictures together. Ever. Every picture we have and will have has already been taken. And I still break down in tears (right now, actually) because I can't take pictures with my dad. I can't take pictures with him and my son. With him and me. With all of us. I can't take pictures of him holding my nieces as they get older and become young women in their own right. Or random shots of him sneaking up behind my mother.

So I take a lot of pictures. One day, my son won't be able to take anymore with me and I want him to have as many as he can so he can look back and remember all the good times we had. All the random road trips we've taken. The times I've been so proud of him. The times our animals have loved on us. When we've had guests over for dinner. When we've done service projects. Memories last forever in our minds, yes, but the pictures help keep it real for me. I can hold a picture. I can put them on my wall and surround myself with the cherished moments. I can tell the stories and keep them alive. The memories will live forever, and the pictures help my dad's legacy live forever, too.

Lots of pictures. No apologies. No regrets. Just memories.