The Missing Photo in the Album
I used to make scrapbooks. I would spend hours clipping articles, picking and positioning photos to create the perfect book. They meant so much to me and held a place of honor on my bookshelves.
I haven’t made a scrapbook in years. I used to think that it was just a matter of time. When I have time, I’ll do that again. I’ve certainly kept everything in a belief that I will once again make an album. I feel this way, especially for my children. They are four and eight. We have taken thousands of photos each. Most of them gather virtual dust in the multiple hard-drives that sit stacked on our desk.So why don’t I spend the hours necessary to give a beautiful home to all those photos? Besides the exhaustion that came with these snapshot worthy children. I think that it is because of the missing photo. Or, rather the person that is missing from those photos.My brother William died October 7, 1995. This was one month and five days before his 21st birthday. It was also eight years and 10 days before my son was born and 11 years, five months, and 21 days before my daughter’s birth.He would have loved being an uncle. And oh, what a fun uncle he would have been. But, of course, he has never met them and he never will. So when I do sit down and make those books and yes, I eventually will, (I may be gray and wrinkled but I will) there will be a missing photo. The one where he is holding a newborn baby in a blue or pink blanket. And that is just the beginning.My son’s book will miss Will’s laughing face in the background when he is caught in the act. An act that he would have most definitely have been put up to by my jokester brother. Also missing will be William teaching my son to ride a skateboard. The Christmas picture of my son opening a pair of Vans or Doc Martens. A picture of the two of them playing air guitar and rocking out to Ozzy Osbourne.My daughter will miss the picture wherein he swings her higher than she knew it was possible to swing. Her book will also lack the picture of the two asleep on a couch, neither able to close their eyes completely when sleeping. And I will miss the photo of him dancing with her like ballerinas, hands held above their heads like a sun, twirling on tiptoe.As much as I miss these photos and innumerable more, I do have pictures hiding in that cavernous maze of gigabyte histories. My son is as much a jokester as his uncle. And when he laughs, he looks just like Uncle Will. He is also, the most loyal friend I have ever seen, just like my brother. These pics help fill the void.My daughter’s emotions turn on a dime and while she smiles a lot, when her forecast turns cloudy her countenance turns desperately serious. My brother did just the same. Whenever I see that frown, a pang strikes my heart. These photos remain missing from her book. I’ll stick with her sunshine and skip his clouds.The photos will keep coming and the more that come, the more that will be missing. For every album I eventually create, there will be at least one missing photo. Sixteen years later and you are still missed. I've been taking a few creative writing classes and this was from a prompt. As one of my 2012 goals is to share my writings more, I thought that I would share some of these pieces.