Picture Perfect

I find myself flipping through photos of him on my iPad; studying his face, zooming in on his eyes, and wondering.  I can almost see the moment the light went out, when he began to realize things were amiss. I wonder if he saw the end drawing near or if he knew his time was up – I’ll never know, we didn’t talk about stuff like that. I don’t know why I’m compelled to dive into that pool of grief and regret, but I do it and it doesn’t change a damned thing. 

The photos are the evidence of a life well lived, of happy times. You don’t take pictures when things are dicey – nobody documents the frustration or the fighting that comes with spending a lifetime with the same person. We take pictures of the “ups” not the “downs”.  Looking at the images it would be easy to fall into a place of perfection, to smooth out the corners of our marriage, to soften the edges and edit our life together.  It would be easy to turn him into a saint – but I think that sells us short. 

A marriage is easy when things are running smoothly, there’s laughter and love and the memories are easy picking. A marriage proves its worth when a storm rolls in, when the going gets tough and you keep going anyway.  We don’t document those memories but they are the ones that actually build the marriage, they are the pedestal on which the good times are displayed – those light and easy times, the picture perfect marriage. 

Ours was not a picture perfect marriage but it was strong, it stood the test of time.  The last pictures of him were taken on a windswept beach – they are of a brave face.  I think he knew the gig was up even as he pushed the last of his smiles through a fog of pain, I think we all knew. We snapped the pictures even as we prepared ourselves for the worst.

I find myself lingering on those last few photos, letting my heart break and feeding my grief.  I know it’s not productive but I can’t seem to help myself. This journey is reflective, it is being written in the past tense and I feel the need to dwell in that past for a while.  I’m resisting the urge to make a saint out of a man or perfection out of a marriage that wasn’t always perfect.  But I’m also taking the time to reflect on our good times and to remind myself about our well lived life.  I’m remembering.