“Honey, remember the one of Zachary holding Sarah the day we brought her home from the hospital?” my husband reminisces.
“Oh, yes.” I nod my head, remembering. “That was precious. Too bad the camera battery was dead.”
We have no pictures of our daughter feeding herself cake at her first birthday party because the flash wasn’t turned on. I can’t show my son the photo of him winning the sack race on Field Day in Kindergarten because I left the camera at home. And a picture of me, posing with a very handsome Canadian Mountie, never made it home because my husband dropped the film when he was changing rolls and it went over Niagara Falls. He still swears it was an accident.
When we finally got a digital camera we thought things would change. We have striking photos of our trash sitting at the curb, me coming out of the shower, and the cat using the litter box. The kids took those.
Occasionally, I miss not having pictures of Christmas morning, the day the cat had kittens, and the time we were on vacation in Colorado and saw the double rainbow. But somehow, there are pictures in my mind of all these important life events. Many are probably in sharper focus and more beautifully framed than the photos would have been. They are stored away where they can’t be destroyed by flood or fire. There are no fingerprints on them. And I don’t have to spend hours putting them into albums to enjoy them. I just close my eyes.