When I am old, and my hair is gray,
When my babies are grown with jobs and mortgages and wives and babies of their own,
When they live all over the world (as they will, if family history is anything to go by),
When they pack up a few bags, grab their car keys, and head off to college,
When they rush out the door to meet up with friends, and roll their eyes when I ask for a hug,
These are the photos I’ll want.
I’ll want to see them glowing with happiness, just to be near me. I’ll want to see how comfortable we were together. How they fit so perfectly in my arms. I’ll want to see how joyful we were together. (I won’t even care about my wobbly chin.)
I’ll want to hold these photos - this proof of our love for each other - and remember the way things were.
These are the photos they want now.
They want to see me giving them my complete and undivided attention. Lavishing them with hugs and kisses and cuddles. They want to see us playing together, doing exactly what they chose for us to do.
They want this proof of my love for them on the hanging on wall, as they walk down the hall to their bedrooms.
These photos - the ones I asked my husband to take of my boys and me at home, on a regular Saturday morning – are the ones that tell a sliver of our family’s story: A story of love and gratitude for this season of life.
It’s a story they want today, and it's one I’m going to want when I’m old, and my hair is gray.