Day 9: Younger you
I’m working on a top-secret project for my parents, and it involves old photos. When I was home this weekend, my mom agreed to let me load several albums and boxes into the trunk of my car. It felt like precious cargo, and it is. As I was thinking about writing a photo post about Easter, I came upon this beautiful shot. It perfectly fits today’s topic. It’s Easter. It’s younger me. And it promptly brought tears to my eyes.
There is so much to love about this photo. My expression. Her expression. The hole in my tights. The soft curls of her hair.
The tears appeared because this is who my mom is. In this photo, she is clearly encouraging me, reassuring me, cheering me on. She is still this person for me.
My parents and my siblings are my loudest cheerleaders, and I am so grateful for them. But my mom is the one who gets down on her knees, nose to nose with me, and tells me it’s okay. It started at birth, I’m sure, and it’s there in this photo, when I was three years old. And it still happens, thirty-some years later.
I’ll save the Easter photos for another day, because they really can’t hold a candle to this.