We are here.

somewhere recently I read that if you want to know what someone is afraid of losing – watch what they photograph. and I had to think long and hard about this, because … is it true? I photograph moments, my children, food. My day in and out, myself occasionally. am I afraid of losing this?

and tonight while Aaron took Oliver to the ER for the second night in a row and the irrational fear of losing everything stared right in my eyes – I wondered: did I touch him enough today? say the right words? did I take his photo today, could I remember?

and I knew. it might not be a photograph that tells us what we’re afraid of losing: it’s the fear.

the fear of not being in control. of not knowing how this one will end. good or bad. of how every time my kids get sick i go to that place that no parent ever talks about and silently wonder if this is it. terrible. horrific.

and i sat at my kitchen table waiting for news from Aaron. tears soaking my shoulders, shoulders jumping in pain and sadness. and he’s ok. he’ll be ok.

but i won’t. because i want to reason with the reasons that i can’t know the future. i want to guarantee safety and health for my family. and it’s the flu, with a side of hives; but it’s my today, our tomorrow.

and giving that up to the great unknown is the hardest part. i photograph my life so i can prove i was part of it. i overshare and instatweet all the best messes, all the little creations because i need to remember.

i need to know i was here, he was here, she was here. We are here.

and we’re not going anywhere.

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