Sunday, 16 August 2015

This Photograph Is Proof

I flipped the page. So many photos I didn't remember seeing of my childhood. Memories lost. There was a series of 4. One of each of us with the man that biologically was our father. It seemed bizarre that we each had a photo at this amusement park when previous visits had all the kids together with no parental pictures. I was seven. My mother saw it. I felt her ache. I asked. She said that was taken during the first time he left. He had the kids for a visit that day and took us to that amusement park. A time I used to think I imagine. Until he left for good. Then I realized that this wasn't the first time. I threw my photo out. I don't need more photographic proof that even at seven I wasn't worth staying for. There are two decades of painful photos. I just couldn't do it. 

Some photographs are stolen moments from memories we don't remember. Some are reminders of the best times. And some capture moments our brain has so carefully tried to help us forget. The older I grow the more I realize my brain has protected me from so much. From remembering the bad times. From keeping my losses at the forefront. From allowing the scars to form where I would never be able to forget. 

This photograph didn't need to be proof for me to refind another day. Some moments are meant to be forgotten. 

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