Rosemary's Image

My mom's sister Rosemary passed away recently. I had shot a black and white photograph of her in 1999 that had a kinda timeless feel to it. She's quilting. I showed up at the wake with a large frame of it. Her son, Jack, one of Pat's closest friends and a priest, came up to me and hugged me immediately as if it was an urgent need. I felt my eyes soften and smiled faintly. I was surprised. I realized in that moment that we had changed. We (The McKinneys) who have seen our ranks leave this earth so dearly, now stand as evidence to those who are in the throes of loss that there is more. We have inadvertently become the messengers of the message out of that loss. Our presence hints to those who are close to us that a glimmer of grace grows steadily from sorrow to peace. It continues to amaze me everyday that the longing road is the road that both feeds and satisfies that longing. Remembering, longing, loving, remembering...
Jack took the frame. "I'm taking this" he said simply. I told him that I had intended it for him all along. He cradled it and carried it with him for most of the rest of the night. Showing it to people. "That's momma" he'd whisper almost as if speaking to himself, part still not believing that she was gone. As I watched this I realized that this may be the only reason that I take pictures; to leave a little evidence, such as we are, evidence of life, love and loss.