I have a favorite picture of my dad and me. Dancing at my sister’s wedding. I can stare at it, close my eyes and hear the band playing, hear my dad singing along, feel his hand in mine as he twirls me across the dance floor. It’s not one of those posed, stiff, typical wedding type pictures. We both look a little goofy to be honest. That’s what I love most about it.You can see my dad’s bigger than life personality shining through his smile and the twinkle in his eyes. I bet you could hear the laughter that rang out immediately before and immediately after the camera managed to capture that particular moment.
I keep the picture in a frame in my house and on my phone and in my writer’s notebook and on my instagram and on my Facebook. So that memory is always a fingertip away. I don’t often talk about my dad, as much as his memory stays in my mind and heart. Life just doesn’t allow for those trips down memory lane so much anymore.
Or so I thought. Seems I keep that memory alive and out in the world more so than I thought. Maddie was perusing the photos on my phone while we were waiting somewhere for something, as is habit at this time of year, and she came across that picture. Her smiling face matched our smiling faces as she looked up at me and the people around us. She held up that phone and very proudly stated. “That’s my papa! He’s in heaven but I love him.”
It’s extraordinary because that memory of mine that has lived for 15 years through that picture, has passed on to my daughter, born seven years after that papa went to heaven.
A memory so strong it surpasses time and planes of existence. From then to now. From heaven to here. She shares this memory with me and her papa now.