The Moments Without Proof

Is it the music or the lyrics? Or is it the music and the lyrics?

For me it’s always the lyrics. Lyrics have the power to bring me to life, remind me of my past, tell me I’m not alone in the world, and even inspire me.

A recent inspiration came from listening to the song, Camera by Ed Sheeran, which got me thinking about moments captured only in time and not by a camera.

And then the flash is gone
But I’ll keep holdin’ on…

I don’t need a camera to capture this moment

The easiest way to take a walk down memory lane is to look at a picture, which is an easy thing to do. The walls of home, photo boxes, albums, or a phone are all that’s needed to see an abundance of the past.

So that’s what I did. I started looking at photos to help jog my memory. Some of them triggered the memory of exactly what was in the photo, but then also sparked an unrelated, separate memory.

For example, the old JCPenney studio photo of my two girls posing with their cousins, featuring my three-year old daughter sucking on a lollipop. She refused to cooperate, so my sister-in-law gave her a lollipop in hopes of helping. Grrrr…I thought the photo would be ruined – though in reality, it’s a cute memory and the picture is adorable.

The unrelated memory that the picture triggered was the time I needed to give that same daughter liquid antibiotic for an ear infection. She detested having to take it, and the process of trying to give it to her left the kitchen looking like a crime scene with red liquid medicine spewed all over the kitchen.

Another photo I used for this exercise was one of my father sitting on the couch holding my oldest daughter for the first time. Not pictured, but even more memorable, was when my dad later visited and sat on the porch next to the same daughter, eating birdseed and watching the cars go by.

And finally, I have several pictures of my brother throughout the years. Pictures of him around the Thanksgiving table, pictures of him with his daughter, and countless selfies highlighting whatever it was that he was up to.

What’s not captured in any of the pictures is the way he looked at me. He had such expressive eyes and as his little sister, he looked at me with such love. I don’t think he knew it, but when I looked at him, I saw it every time. Until he got sick, he didn’t say ‘I love you’, but he never had to because his eyes said it all. Neither that look nor the way it made me feel was captured in any of the photos, yet I will never forget.

So how do we know a memory is real with no evidence of it? I know because I feel them. They tug at my heart, bring a tear to my eye, and fill me with an energy that can’t be explained. Writing is how I try to capture them.

I don’t need a camera…