He laughed and helped me settle into a chair.
The grandchildren crowded around me, arguing about who would sit closest.
Ruth stood behind us, David crouched beside the chair, and Michael held the camera.
“Everybody smile!”
I looked into the lens.
For years, I had avoided photographs because I did not like the way my body looked.
That day, I did not care.
I was alive.
I was healing.
And the people I loved were standing beside me.
Michael took the picture.
Then he came over and showed it to me.
I studied our faces.
We were not a perfect family. We had lost people we loved. We had made mistakes. We had hidden things from one another because we thought silence would make life easier.
But we were still together.
And that was worth more than any photograph could capture.
That evening, after everyone had gone home, I returned to the sitting room.
