When we passed the five-year anniversary of the death of our son Michael, in June of this year, I flinched away from sharing a collage of favorite photos from his life on Instagram or Facebook.
It suddenly hit me, with painful clarity, that they would be the same exact pictures I'd shared for the fourth year, and the third, and the second... They're wonderful pictures, from various moments in his twenty-six years. I treasure them.
What stopped me?
There will never be a new favorite picture of our son.
This is it; this fistful of most-favorite moments. The stack will never grow taller or wider.
If I share favorite photos every birthday and deathday, they will be the exact same pictures, over and over again, because the chance for capturing new moments died with him.
Having that painful truth hit me from this fresh angle made it impossible for me to even go look at my desktop file of his pictures. It has, in fact, taken almost three months for me to be able to look at pictures since this realization hit me.
The pictures are so precious. I love them.
There will never be more, and that is...hard.
