She wanted a family picture of all of us. Everyone was in town celebrating the holidays together and she wanted another picture. We gave her a hard time, teasing that we had 492 family pics already and we hadn’t changed since the last one.
She frowned at us. Then said, “We’re doing it.”
Reluctantly we gathered around, goofing off and teasing the entire time. Someone snapped the memory and Mom was happy. She printed it and posted it on social media, excited to show off her kids and grandkids.
We didn’t really mind.
Except it was just another family photo.
It didn’t mean anything to me until after she passed away. Suddenly, I desperately needed to see her face again. I scrambled through boxes and boxes of family photos but she wasn’t in any of them.
She was always the face behind the photo, the one taking the picture, capturing the moment frozen in time.
But not that time.
She stood right next to me, smiling, loving the moment of being surrounded by those most important to her. Her people. Us. Family.
And now, the frozen moment of a loved family is a keepsake. A picture to show the grandkids she never met and refresh the memory of those who did.
But more important than the memory of her face is the reminder to take the family picture.
Regardless of size or shape or weight or that it’s the same people from the previous year, take the picture. One day, they won’t be here any more and you’ll be left with fuzzy memories, desperate for another glimpse of the face you so dearly loved.
Or maybe you’ll be the one gone and your family won’t have a tangible reminder of you, smiling at the camera because you were too self-conscious or not in the mood like I was that year.
Just do it.
Take the picture. Print the memory. Remember your loved ones.
This article originally appeared on The Farm Wyfe – Amanda Wells
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