Sorting

This has been the week of sorting photos.  I went through the giant stack of pictures we developed before the holidays and got everything labeled and dated.  It's a habit held over from the days before digital pictures when I would get the mystery envelope of prints from the developer and sit down with my calendar and try to remember when everything happened.  I'm glad I did, because the first four years of Aden's life are a blur to me now without those photos, and the dates and reminders of where we were mean something to me.  It's still nice to have information written out on the back of a photo, though, even if there are now high tech ways to figure some of that out.

We got our first digital camera when Mona was about eighteen months old.  The best part about it to me has always been the ability to see right away if you got the shot you wanted, and to decide if it's even a picture you want to develop, or make multiples of.  Not to mention the seemingly endless number of photos you can take to try and get the right shot.  It's hard to explain the old limitations to my kids.

When I think back to using rolls of film, the main thing I remember is having to keep track of the countdown on the roll and having to be selective about what I could even take photos of.  And seeing what pictures I actually got was always a surprise, but not one I would want to revisit.  The quality of the photos, however, I still think was better with real film.  There's a crispness to digital photos that can be great, but also somehow hard and flat.  I'm sure that's not true of professional grade cameras, but there was a softness to the pictures of my old-fashioned point-and-shoot that's different from what I get with my digital version.  Not enough to matter, but it's something I notice when I look back at Aden's baby pictures from before our jump to digital.

Another hold over from my regular film developing days is the boxes.  Not every picture I got developed was something I wanted to put in an album, but I didn't necessarily want to throw them away, either, so I'd put the spares in a photo box.  Even though I can now select what photos to develop, I don't always know until I really hold them in my hand what I think.  I also like to have choices when I'm sorting and put things in an album that tell the right story.  Sometimes that means some really nice pictures end up in the boxes, but that's okay.  They are there if I ever want them.

I was good for several years about getting photos into albums.  I have categories of albums, such as friends and family and the cottage.  I tend to put big trips together into their own albums, so if I want to remember my visit to India, or Alaska, or my car trip out West with my best friend, I can find them.  I sort pictures by what I think I might want to look for--such as photos from college, or Ian as a child.

For my children I have them sorted by kid and by age, and Quinn pointed out to me recently that he only goes up to age four, and Aden stopped aging apparently at nine.  This bothered his own need for organization (not that that need extends to his bedroom floor, but that's a different post), and I decided if I didn't get them up to date soon it was going to be too hard to ever want to deal with, so Quinn helped me buckle down and get everything sorted.

Death of My Dad

I'm home again.  I've been back a week now.  I was away for almost three.  It feels much, much longer.  Despite everything I can't quite grasp that my dad is really gone.  That realization comes and goes at odd times.

I need to sort out the death of my dad in writing.  I'm already forgetting so much.  I don't want to forget anything, but I also need to get some distance in order to function.  To preserve these memories I have to revisit them, but I can't live in that place right now.  I believe by writing them down I can safely set them aside for another time when I'm ready.

I don't know if this post will be of interest to anyone but myself.  All I know is it is long. 

Parallels: Rivyn and Dad

I have a moment while the nurse is here.  I am tired.  The horror of watching my dad starve to death weighs everything down and makes any laughter we can't suppress at odd moments feel disrespectful.  But sometimes you have to laugh and sometimes you have to cry and it is what it is.

And sometimes you have to write.  I need this chance to organize my thoughts into words to settle me a little.  Or I might go crazy.  My dad informed my mom this morning that it takes great effort to go truly crazy.  I believe it may take just as much effort not to.

So what I would like to write about today are the parallels between my dad at this stage, and my nephew, Rivyn.  The obvious themes of life and death seem to scream at us at every turn.  I can't imagine struggling through this time with my parents without all the kids here to reaffirm what life is really about.  But in particular to have this precious, remarkable little baby in the house---there are no words.  You can't not smile when you look at that baby.  We are all so sad, but then here is this adorable, sweet new person interjected into all of it.  He is a lifeline.  He reminds us simultaneously of what we have and what we will lose.  We're all glad my dad got to meet him.  We are all devastated that they will never know each other.

Hospice

My father started home hospice today.  This has been the strangest day of my life.  Good, bad, a bittersweet limbo.  I don't know quite what to do.

This is a placeholder post, really.  I can't write they way I'd like to because I need to be living these moments rather than reflecting on them.  There is much to say and much to sort out, but not tonight.

Tell the people you love that you love them.  Be there with them if you can, because we don't get to keep them.  No matter how much we want to.