By: C. Michelle Bryant
Do you see this photo? I hate it. And yet I love it. Is that
possible? I hate it because I feel as though I look as big as a house in the
crinoline dress I thought was so beautiful and that my butt appears even more rotund
than it is. Yet I also love it because it is a photo of me dancing to the
special song my son personally selected for his mother-son dance at his
wedding. And, yes, I was a blubbering idiot, crying the entire time on the shoulder
of my handsome 27-year old son. But I have to confess when I saw the photo for
the first time my initial response was, “Ugh! That can’t go in his collection
of wedding pictures to be remembered for all time.” Of course, I kept the
thought to myself, as the day was, after all, about my son and his new bride
and not about me.
However, it was after I made it home from that long,
grueling 12-hour road trip and a whirlwind weekend that I found out a dear friend
of mine was under hospice care, and something happened
inside me to prompt this message. My dear friend was only 63
years old and had been married to the love of his life for 45 years. I was blessed
to know him for 10 of those. He had two beautiful children who often played
with mine, and our families shared many cookouts, parades, outdoor fun and
laughs together. I was unable to make his funeral service but sent a plant along
with individual, personal messages to each of my friends with prayers,
thoughts, sentiments and condolences. Sparing the long story, I’m sure you
gather that we were a very close family with their family. Yet, through the
distance, I do not think they knew the hurt that I really felt at his loss.
It wasn’t until his daughter posted on Facebook the
15-minute video the funeral home made of him and his life. The photo slide show
passed frame by frame of images from the young man working on cars, fishing
with friends, marrying his lovely bride, dancing with his daughter, wrestling
with his son and so much more. Some of the photos were old, tattered and faded.
Some he looked like a movie star, very handsome with no shirt. I actually
thought, “Hubbahubba!” I’d never seen him that way before. Other photos he was
as I remembered, smiling, a bit scruffy, with kind eyes. For 15 minutes I watched
a man’s life pass me by in pictures, and I realized that he had really lived
and was really loved.
I’ve seen these videos before. In fact, I have even made
them. Carefully choosing the right song to portray the personality. And yet, this
one struck me for some reason.
Perhaps it is the photographer in me now. Watching these
photos slide one by one as songs were being sung. And then I realized, there
was not a “posed” picture in the bunch. All candids, all raw, all truly who he
was. Shirtless, covered in mechanic’s grease, fish guts, cigarette hanging from
his mouth, goofy personality shining through, a child clinging to his leg. It
was who he was. Who he lived to be. It was rare and beautiful, and I realized
at that moment, especially as a photographer, that I have hidden behind the
lens and as a mother that I have spent the past 30 years or so avoiding being in
the picture or even accepting a picture unless I look “just right.” It was
while watching his video that it came over me like a flood. What would my
children do if they had to make a video of my life? My memory? My legacy? Where
are the pictures of my life? I HA VE lived quite the life. I’ve been blessed
with quite the personality and yet hidden away due to pride or vanity or some other
silly reason.
Memories stay in our minds, but the moments that get
captured by the click of a button are frozen in time. So I encourage you to stop
posing and stop worrying. I can assure you when I’m gone my son will remember
the dance, not the dress or the size of my butt. Embrace every moment and every
dance. And remember, life is not posed.