There’s so much I love about this moment captured!
- My eldest brothers glasses and the way he’s peering around us all, observing what’s going on, analysing the situation.
- My other brother and his intent to smile for camera. Everyone else may be wondering what the heck mum is doing, but Adam’s onto it.
- My Dad’s aviator sunnies, gosh he loved those things! And let me highlight the t-shirt that mum “conveniently” sowed the sleves up on, revealing his shinning biceps! The way he’s looking at mum, probably thinking, “What are you doing, love? Do you know how to use the camera?” (Great shot by the way, mum.)
- And then there’s me, ready to get on that ship and hoist the sail.
But what I love the most is that, although you can’t see it, I know my arm is hanging onto my Dads back. I remember the feeling of his shirt in my hands. So long as I held onto his shoulders, I’d be alright. He wasn’t letting me go. He wasn’t going to let me fall.
By George, those biceps could lift anything!!
To often, I underestimate the impact we can have on each other. Moments like the one captured in this photo, disappear almost before they are made, and yet it’s these moments that shape and form us.
When Dad died, it was like a series of tiny moments running into each other, yet all so distinct. I was SO aware of living in the face of death. There is something precious about this. I feel we often walk around our little planets only half alive, slumbering at the bottom of an ocean of great expanse. If Dad could give me anything in his process of dying, it was actually an awareness of life. An awareness of the huge meaning of tiny moments. The significance of my actions and word. That regardless of reality, we have the power to bring life or death by how we choose to exist.
Living has become conscious.
So I remember my Dad’s biceps, his aviators and the way his shoulders felt, and I know, that although I didn’t see it at the time…these moments have made me.