2 suitcases per person. Your whole life, your children’s lives — all in 8 suitcases. Memories, special mementos, family heirlooms — all in 8 precious suitcases. I don’t remember those suitcases — I don’t want to remember those suitcases.
I do remember my parents sorting through hundreds, maybe thousands of family pictures and albums and selecting a precious few. I remember the rest were burned … no other option. Perhaps more tragic than the fact they were burned, is the fact that each and everyone one of them, my dad took. He enjoyed photography as his hobby and would take, develop and print every picture. He let me “help” him when I was a little bit older and it was such an amazing treat.
I remember amazing pictures he took of my mom when they were dating. I remember pictures he took of my sister and me, of my family, my aunt when she and her family came to visit in 1988. They’re all gone. In fact, and I am sorry I missed seeing some that my aunt has from when my grandmother would post them to her. I want to see them, I want them. It made me very sad.