Photo A Day: Contrasts
Posted under Photography
A little on the funereal side I think…it could be a condolence card don’t you think? And flowers YET AGAIN. I need to give the flower shots a break. But at least this one wasn’t shot with the omnipresent Lensbaby so that’s progress, of sorts…I have a client shoot tomorrow and hopefully they will give me permission to use one of my shots for my Photo A Day. It’s the most, most, most beautiful boutique. I want to live there. Alas, I think the chances of being given permission for that are remote, but a girl’s got to have dreams right?
Back to death….I was pondering about the permanency of death a bit today. I realise that’s a ridiculous statement but that’s how my mind works. When my mother died I found it very hard to accept that she wasn’t ever coming back, that I would ever hear her laugh or her voice again…and that I’d never get the chance to talk to her again. In the depths of my grief I’d idly fantasise that I could bring her back to life again so I could tell her that I was OK, I was making a decent shot at making a happy and fulfilled life for myself, and that I loved her so, so much and was profoundly grateful for all the sacrifices she made for me.
I was reminded of that today when I was suddenly filled with the urge to talk to my friend R who died last year. When I was heavily pregnant with Bertie R told me to enjoy the last few Sunday mornings lying around reading the paper because it wouldn’t happen again for many, many years. Of course I didn’t listen and thought he was exaggerating (despite him having 4 children and me having none, I was sure I knew better). Naturally, he was right. I don’t think I’ve read a Sunday paper beyond flapping through the pages in a frenetic fashion since having children. But I did today, because MrSpud has taken the boys to visit his mother for the weekend.
So I sat in a cafe and read the WHOLE paper whilst having breakfast. Suddenly I could see R sitting in front of me telling me to make the most of my Sunday paper reading and I wanted to tell him he was right. Oh, he’d have enjoyed that so much since the words, ‘You were right’ don’t come out of my mouth very often…and he and I had a very healthy love of fierce debate. And there it was, that smack round the face that I won’t ever see R again and won’t ever get to share industry gossip or tell him he was right. It’s so painful. I think the physical pain of grief is rarely talked about, but whenever the gloom of grief hits me the whole inside of my chest hurts. It gets tight and feels like there’s a huge lump in there trying to break out.
I sat in the cafe with big fat tears plopping down and smudging the newsprint, whilst sipping at my bucket of latte and hoping no one would notice.
Anyway, to R: should you be reading this in the afterlife. YOU WERE RIGHT. And you have it in writing now too. I can hear your booming laughter, which was always sonorous enough to stop an army in its tracks, all the way from here…where there is a big, fat (literally unless you’ve lost of a pounds) R shaped hole in the the world. Get back here would you?
What great artistry! I am truly amazed. Flicking through your posts, each and every photo is magnificent. I am marvelled.
And that was beautifully written. A lovely tribute to your friend R.
Ohhh, Spud you write so beautifully, it makes me weep. I know exactly the emotion and physical pain you talk of.
There’s a little five foot two hole in my life but the memories are so colorful and full of life….every now and again I break down… usually when i hear Frank Sinatra sing New York New York.
So incredibly well written… You made me think about my grandmother. She has been gone a long time now, at least 10 years, and I still think about stopping by to catch her up on things. The ache is palpable… Once again, you nailed it!
So true, you’ve made me weep a bit too.
Oh that made me cry. How lovely and sad at the same time.