Recently one of my computer friends lost a child due to a tragic accident. From one who has experienced death up close, you never know when it is going to come around and hit you head on. I find myself lost in the web of it all whenever someone else is touched by it in the manner I was: sudden and without reason. And it is like reliving those moments all over again. I am the metaphor queen as many of my friends would tell you and have always seen life as one of those 2-D holograms out of the cereal box – just standing at an angle away from my peers seeing something different. Death is like the best book you never meant to read. It takes over your life, changes the way you look at things, and, when asked years later about it, you can’t imagine what you would be without its effects. It is an unfortunate side effect that you can never go back to the way you were: it has made its impression, and you will never be the person that the one you lost knew. Death has taught me, after much time and through its surgical ways, to take life as it comes and relish in the outcomes you never expect – to say what you mean and always say, “I love you.” After I lost my father, a women (that I really cannot stand) told me the most important thing anyone told me during that time: “You will never get over this.”
In memory of Ava I would like to remind everyone to lock there cars at all times, and teach your children to honk the horn if they ever become trapped inside.
We were unable to let pink balloons rise to the heavens on Saturday, so we had a mini photo shoot featuring Will, a bathtub, and, of course, pink balloons. I got many great shots, but it is the ones I don’t intend to get that really speak. I think there is another metaphor wrapped up in that.
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