Photographs

    I have been quietly struggling lately. It is not a struggle for a birth mother(though, that plays into it), it is a struggle for a person from a broken home. When we first were trying to decide if we wanted to give the baby to the family we did, we of course got the usual book about them, but we also got a baby book for their son. It was written to him, from the point of view of his parents, and it was about how God got him to them. Ethan also brought me one for our girl when he went to see them over the summer. I had been wanting to make her one from Ethan and I's point of view from the very beginning, and God handed me that opportunity with a free Shutterfly book that Ethan won through McDonald's Monopoly. Seriously, it was God. I didn't even have to pay for shipping with that monopoly piece. I was so excited.
       I made it for her, it was full of pictures of Ethan and I, and it tried to explain just how much we love her. As I made it though, I became more and more aware of the photographs I encountered. And I came to a realization that broke my heart: there is not a house in the world with my pictures hanging in it. I do not have any school pictures tucked away in anyone's wallet. I have no grandparents to proudly say "that's my granddaughter, isn't she beautiful?" to the other octogenarians around them. Nothing. I might as well be invisible to people outside my family, because there is no photographic trace of me anywhere in my life. I first noticed this right after the baby was born and within days, Ethan's mother had pictures printed of everyone holding the baby. Everyone but me. Even my sister was featured. At first we all laughed, 'how did that happen?' 'you should be grateful, you didn't exactly look your best' and all that. But then I started look around more. Nowhere in my Aunt and Uncle's house am I featured. This doesn't really bug me, there aren't many pictures in the house at all, but it still caught my notice. And in Ethan's house, everyone got new pictures printed and featured, even the one I worked so hard to bring into this world. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't expect Ethan's family to proudly feature me in any of their photographs. I am not part of the family. No matter how much we pretend. I am not married to Ethan, I don't wear his name, and I have no right to think I should be in any pictures. That is not what bugged me. What irked me is that I once again, do not have that. My mother's house, to my knowledge, doesn't bear my face anywhere. My father is gone. His side of the family is far off in California and has never met me, much less felt the need to display my likeness anywhere. And all of my grandparents are gone. I never took senior pictures. There is no one to show me off. And that is kind of hard to swallow. Everyone has pictures somewhere they're embarrassed of, that some relation loves whipping out at every opportunity. Me, I have a singular precious box of pictures from my childhood. And that is about it.
        Now, I know God gave me this path for a reason, that he gives me strength at every turn, but that doesn't mean that I am perfect. That I don't sit around and wallow in how much this life has hurt once in a while. Because I do, more often than I care to admit. The reason this is so important to me is that photographs are so important in the American culture. People display the people they love, and care about, to remind themselves to love and care about those people. They are hung to commemorate achievements, celebrate great times, and to mourn the loss of others. They're special. Even people who are dirt poor payed to have photographs in the depression. It was important to them. And as the history major that I am sifts through the photographs of yesterday, I can't help but to remember how small the chances are that a photograph of me will survive to tomorrow. That I will be quickly forgotten, because I don't even exist in material culture today.
      I am grateful to God that my girl will never know that twinge of pain that is like a knife to her heart. Her picture was hanging in her house before she was even born. I am so grateful that they take the time to have family pictures taken and printed and disbursed among their loved ones. My family only had it together enough to have one picture taken of all four of us, and I was just a baby.
     I guess the point I am trying to make is this: take photographs. Print them. Label them. Display them proudly. Do this for everyone you love and care about. Because as someone who has experienced so much pain, throwing invisibility on top of it all isn't really the best way to assure someone they care. I was ignored so much as a child, I have so many trust issues, and I find it hard to believe people actually care about me. I am always sure they like me as a means to get what they want. Lately I have been hearing the evil whispers in my ears that it was all because of what my uterus held. And this poison has been filling my heart with hurt and anguish. I know this is not true, and I know that God made my story so much bigger than having a baby and giving her up. But sometimes, a little reassurance is nice, you know? Take pictures. Write on the back of them. Tell historians what was happening to whom and when and how old they were. Allow your loved ones to live on in archives of tomorrow. But most of all, put them on display. Be proud to show off your people and their accomplishments and their youth and beauty. I find myself praying this morning that at least God in heaven has a picture of me somewhere. That he is gesturing to my loved ones that are with him, and saying (instead of 'look at what she has done') "Just wait till you see what I've got for her next. I am so very proud of her."  I am grateful that at least I never have to doubt His love for me. And, that, above all else, is what brings me comfort in this pain.