Family Ties

Holidays. It is this time of the year. Spring. Families reuniting. Getting together. Sharing meals, laughter and memories. Taking pictures, once polaroids, today an uncountable number of digital memories that will once be looked at and then carefully stored onto your hard drive, a memory made up of an endless cascade of 0s and 1s, aligning perfectly to form the faces of you and your loved ones.

I am guilty myself. Guilty of confusing the simple joy to value the intimate and natural situations we once felt while taking our pictures with the urge to take a perfect photograph. To rather create a piece of photographic art than an everlasting memory. That old Polaroid camera I bought off Ebay in December is sitting on the shelf next to my desk, reminding me that as much as every monent you encounter is worth being remembered, the carefully chosen ones are the only ones you need and regularly come back to. A sparkling cascade of glimpses, your individual Best Of My Life.

We didn't take any pictures this year. Easter has never been a big deal in my family. But even if it would have been, things probably would not be that different these days. Family meetings are rare and never consist of more than five or six of us. Age differences have always been ubiquitous in our family. I have been thinking a lot about my grandma lately. It would have been her birthday on May 10. She would have turned 113. Right, 113 years, a number I can't relate to at all. How could I at the tender age of 31? Last week I read the latest issue of the history magazine I have subscribed to. It deals with the year 1914 and what an immense impact it had on how the entire century turned out to be. While staring at the incredible photographs of 1914 displayed in there I realized that my grandma was just an ordinary teenager back then. Probably hoping to fall in love for the first time, to finally outgrow infancy and turn into a young woman. Full of hopes, wishes and dreams that were crashed once WWI started. A hundred years ago, a century, an eternity for me. But after all just a glimpse in the eye of the universe.

My uncle was born in 1930. My mom followed in 1944, right during WWII. My cousin Christine was born in 1964, her brother in 1967. And then there's me, the only child. I did never mind being an only child or having parents that had me way later than in their 20s. Quite the contrary, as they always acted pretty laid back. Trusting me. Giving me the freedom to make my own choices, confident I would not disappoint them. I don't think I ever really did, despite being a pretty wild and sultry teenager back then. But as we all grow older and I see my friends attending one family get together after the other, I feel betrayed. Betrayed to miss out on having a really close relationship with my cousins. To miss out on having grandparents. Or to even consciously get to know them. I hardly had the chance.

There is this one single photograph of my grandma and me. Taken 30 years ago. It may have been around Easter. Before she got sick. One of the special pictures. The ones you keep close to your heart. The ones that should have been a polaroid picture, neatly tucked away in your wallet. Reminding you of times long gone by. Captured forever. Reminding you that this time next year, we won't all be here.