Today I was cleaning out the spare bedroom and I came across 3 photos of my grandfather that my uncle had sent me. They were taken just before Christmas. The photos are of him sitting in a chair, wearing an apron, painting a picture. The man in the photos is frail - incredibly skinny and old looking. The man in the photos looks nothing like my grandfather - the man who used to walk for 3 hours, for no reason at all. The man who was there when I learnt to ride my bike, the one who harassed me for not eating my vegetables. The pictures weren't of that man.
So I threw them out.
Actually, I gave them to Andrew to throw out because I couldn't bring myself to do it. That wasn't him and that's not how I want to remember him. The photos are in the bin and I feel kind of guilty about it. But in this case the pictures painting a thousand words are just pictures of him painting. There are no words to describe it - the last pictures of someone's life. Of him doing something pre-schoolers do rather than a grown adult. If there was any higher being in this world people wouldn't suffer like he did.
I hope you're in a better place now. xx
Sunday, 26 July 2009
A picture paints a thousand words
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
There comes a point in your life when you realise who matters, who never did, who won't anymore and who always will. So don't worry about people from your past, there's a reason why they didn't make it to your future ♥
The word God is, for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weakness, the Bible a collection of honorable, but still purely primitive, legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this. -- Einstein
0 comments:
Post a Comment