I remember many times as a child, gazing wistfully at the sky. Not just when an airplane happened to pass or to watch a bird, or even to look at clouds like these.
Having flown all over the continent now, I’ve looked at clouds from both sides. Though I still often look at them from the ground like this, my memory of those childhood moments is expanded by having flown among them. I wonder what Lulu will remember of her visit here. If for some reason she didn’t see me again, would any of her memories include me? Moments like this one looking at me lovingly watching her?
My own grandfather died when I was about her age, and I have only a few dim memories of him. Might she remember the long visit we two had with ducks at the zoo while everyone else was buying lunch?
I realize now in looking at our zillions of pix, that I was out of sight for her most of the time. With the ducks I was mostly that hand tempting them with tidbits of bread, and occasionally a few quiet words behind her. Memories of me that are reinforced or formed by family photos will be few, since I took most of them and thus am the invisible man. Like those old black and white pix of our family, where Dad was just the photographer’s shadow most people don’t even notice. This is the way of human history, as we each pay the love forward outside of memory. Except when those we love leave a sweet note of appreciation that we can reflect on.
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