The Photos of Life

Photography was the third love of my life. That love started when I was just a toddler, waddling after my mom at weddings and birthdays as she snapped picture after picture. I associated every clicking sound with her. The first time she let me hold her camera and take a picture was when photography truly became my third love.

On my fifth birthday, she got me my first camera. I took thousands of pictures with it, most of them within the first day of getting it. She taught me so much about photography, but it seemed that no matter how much I knew, there was still so much left to learn.

As the years passed, I noticed the effects that her illness had on her. Or it could have been that it started affecting her more. She couldn’t stand for more than half an hour at a time, and she was asleep more than she was awake. Yet she still managed to take me out into the woods or to the beach to take pictures with me. I enjoyed most of all taking pictures of her, for to me she was the most beautiful thing to capture an image of.

 During her last few months, my dad took more time off work than ever. He started going on our outings even though he didn’t like taking photos himself, and he always made sure that mom was comfortable, and I was having fun.

I spent my thirteenth birthday by her hospital bed, watching her fade away until she was gone. I still remember coming home and throwing away every camera, tripod, and instrument that I owned. The first thing in the trash was my first camera.

 Twenty-five years later, the doctors said that a drunk driver hit them head on going 110. The drunk driver died instantly along with my two daughters, but my wife hung on for a few more hours. It was enough time for me to see her deformed, crushed body fade away, just as I had watched my mom fade away all those years ago. The month after was the darkest. I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t go to work, couldn’t even eat. My father had to bury my family, because I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t. By the time I managed to drag myself out of bed, I had already lost my job. My house followed shortly after.

“Thank you, dad. For everything.” I dropped my suitcase on the bed in my old bedroom and hugged him. “I’ll get a job soon and move out as fast as possible but thank you for letting me stay here in in the meantime.”

He patted my back, “Don’t worry about it, son. Take your time and take the time to grieve. If you need to live here for the rest of your days, then you do so.”

I chuckled, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be out of your hair within a few months, at the most.”

 He started walking out but stopped at the doorway and turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you, an early birthday present. Give me just a moment.” He returned with a small box, wrapped sloppily but with love, a small bow on top.

 “What’s this? My birthday’s not for another couple months.”

He waved his hand dismissingly, “Fine, it’s a… housewarming gift. Just open ‘er up!”

I tore it open and could only stare at what was inside. After a moment, I gently took it out. “A… camera?”

“I know you stopped taking pictures after your mother died, but you used to love it more than anything. You truly did have your mother’s gift. I thought that you might find some comfort in it, or at least something to take your mind off everything. I completely understand if you never use it and decide to just throw it away. I’m here for you no matter what. Whether you’re a world-renowned photographer, or a homeless bum.”

I nodded as I fought back tears. My dad immediately understood that I needed a moment and he left without another word. The tears tried their best to boil over, but I fought them with all my might. If they started now, I know they’d never stop. I flipped the camera back in forth in my hands and stared at it, as if all the answers of the universe, or at least the answers to my life, lay somewhere on it. I sighed and went over to my closet, I planned to shove it in the very back and never looking at it again, but I stopped.

 How much could a few pictures really hurt me?

There are times where I miss photography more than anything and just having a camera in my hands again makes me feel whole. A way I haven’t felt in twenty-five years…

“Dad! I’m going out, do you need anything?” I leapt down the stairs two at a time, feeling like I was twelve again. I landed right next to my dad.

“No, I should be just fine. You have fun.” He looked unphased, not bothered either by my sudden trip out or my burst of energy.

I carefully tucked my camera into my jacket and hopped on my bike, pedaling like there was a bear hot on my heels all the way to me and my mom’s favorite spot, a clearing deep in the woods next to a small stream. I hopped off my bike and spotted the boulder that we used to eat our lunch on, memories hitting me like a train. I smiled as I remembered what she used to tell me.

“Remember this Josh, all you need is a camera and imagination, and you can create entire worlds and stories in a single picture.”

A bush to my left rustled and an adorable bunny popped out, not a single care in the world. I slowly took out my camera, aimed, and pressed the trigger. A gentle “click!” resounded through the quiet forest, it sends the bunny hopping away yet more memories of my mom slammed into me. I started clicking away, taking pictures of everything from the smallest flower, still half closed, to the chubbiest chipmunk. The memories of me and my mom steadily flooded in as I remembered her advice. I felt like she was there with me, whispering her expertise in my ear,

“Steady the camera. Blurry pictures tell only one story, and it’s of bad photography. Fix your angle, sweetheart, there you go. Remember depth!”

The day very quickly turned into evening and evening into night as I shot right up until the very last piece of sun went behind the mountains. I pedaled home as fast as possible, with the hope that my dad didn’t wait up, but knowing that he did.

As I pulled up, I saw lights on in the living room and the door squeaked open to reveal my dad calmly waiting in his rocking chair, watching the news. He looked up from the TV and turned it off as I closed the door.

“You have fun kid?”

I nodded, smiling as tears started rolling down my cheeks, “Yeah dad, I had fun.”

He chokingly laughed as his eyes filled up with tears, “I knew you would.”

The very next morning, I found myself laying flowers on four graves. My wife, Lorelai, my daughters, Olivia and Elizabeth, and my mom, Vanessa. My wife and daughters are buried next to my mom, in a beautiful spot with large pine trees and the greenest grass you’ll ever see. I knew that they would have liked it. I could even see my daughters playing in the field. Olivia’s sitting in front of a pine tree quietly reading, while Elizabeth cartwheels around her, giving fact after fact to whoever had the misfortune of being around. I gently caressed my wife’s gravestone as I whispered a final farewell.

The next day, I began my own business, with the help and funds of my dad, of course. At first, business was extremely slow, with only a wedding or a birthday party every other week. But after the first month or so, business started picking up and it never went back down. In a year, I started taking pictures not just for events, but for art. After sharing and selling my art online, my following quickly went through the roof. And a few years after that, I somehow found myself nominated for several photography awards. I still remember that night, sitting in my finest suit, completely sure that I wasn’t going to win, when I heard those words.

 “The Photographer of the Year AND the Photograph of the Year awards both go to… L.O.V.E Pictures, owned and operated by Joshua Diver, and his picture green winter wonderland, taken in our very own California!”

After a flurry of applause and confusion, I found myself onstage as I stared back at hundreds of expectant eyes. “Um…” the microphone let out a high-pitched scream as I accidentally bumped it.

“Well, I’d like to thank everyone if you’re not all deaf from that.” A wave of laughter flowed through the crowd, easing my nerves.

“I won’t be giving a big speech, so if you’re expecting one, I apologize. But… I don’t need a big speech. As my mom always told me, ‘Remember this Josh, all you need is a camera and imagination, and you can create entire worlds and stories in a single picture’. Letting my pictures share my world and tell my story has worked so far, so why try to fix something that works? However, there are some words that a picture simply can’t convey, no matter how crisp and perfect it is. Some words need to be said. And I have a few words and a thank you to give to someone before I humbly accept my award. To my father.”

I gestured to him in the crowd, and a spotlight turned on, highlighting him. He waved shyly.

“When my mother died, I was in a very dark place. And just a few years ago when my wife and daughters died, I went back to that place, and it was even darker. So dark that I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, or any light at all. But my dad pulled me out both times. He was grieving as well, mind you, especially when my mom, his wife, died. But he somehow managed to keep himself together and prevent me from breaking beyond repair. I wouldn’t be here right now without him. Either here, accepting this reward, or even on this earth. So…thank you dad. And thanks for that early birthday present. I never did get the chance to thank you for that.”

Thunderous applause echoed throughout the room, but all I cared about was getting off the stage to go be with my dad.

The End.