Sometimes a photo is just a snapshot. A moment in time captured. And sometimes it unknowingly captures and becomes something so much more.
I had no idea at the time, but these are the last two photos I will ever take of my mom and her husband. They were in Portland for Thanksgiving last year, as they’ve done almost every year for the last 10 years, and we paid a visit to Pittock Mansion. My mom doesn’t always like having her photo taken {the apple doesn’t fall from that tree}, but they were both game, and the setting perfect with Portland stretching out behind them. These two images personify for me exactly the dynamics of their relationship, and one that anyone can ever hope to achieve….unadulterated permission to be your silly self, and complete adoration for one another. I am SO very grateful I insisted on taking these photos…
Because life doesn’t always chart a predictable course. Bill died very unexpectedly two weeks ago, and has now left a massive void in the universe and in my dear mother’s heart. They had been high school and college sweethearts, then life took them in different directions. But 22 years ago, life brought them back together again, and they’ve been devoted companions since. And it’s painfully difficult to now imagine the one without the other.
“I want to put a ding in the universe.” I recently came across this quote from Steve Jobs and it really resonated with me. And it too, like the photos above, has now taken on a whole new meaning. Bill left a crater sized ding. In trying to describe Bill to the minister conducting his memorial, we described the image of a bull in a china shop, smoking a cigar and charging around this life. When I asked my daughter what her favorite memory was of Grandpa Bill, she replied “When he told me I was a real trashbag” {translation = gasbag….which was, funny enough, the pot calling the kettle black}. He was a rascal and a rabble-rouser {meant only in the most complimentary of ways} and passionate about so many things…history {he was Chief Historian for the Census Bureau}, books, tennis, baseball, his amazing family. And my mom.
During the course of one of my bleary eyed flights back to DC to be with my mom, I watched an episode of Ted Talks that featured a talk given by Candy Chang, “Before I Die I Want To”. Once I got through a tidalwave of emotion, I was keenly aware of how this question could be applied to my own life. Death rarely gives you 2 weeks notice, and walking through their home later that evening, I was shattered by all the still life moments Bill had left behind, having every intention of returning to them.
I’ve written this for several reasons. As a cathartic part of my own grieving process. As a tribute to Bill and my mom and the amazing love they shared. And to serve as my own personal reminder {and anyone else who may need it} to maximize my time, my passions, and my potential to love in this lifetime.
Bill, you will be missed more than you could ever know.
