Some think life changes instantly, like thunder before a storm. Never expect it. You feel safe, like today is another day. But then everything changes.
The park was still lit by the sun. Kids laughed loudly above the talk. Couples walked by, hands clasped like anchors in an uncertain world.
I walked alone on the edge, watching everyone live happy lives together, exactly like I had since Tom. He vanished in a flash, leaving a crushing silence that still haunts me.
Years pass, but not all wounds heal. Sometimes it just teaches you to limp through pain.
As I walked down the trail, fiddling with the wedding ring I’d never put away, I saw a family on a bench. Parents and two kids. It was a magazine-worthy scene.
The girl sought to catch a butterfly with bouncing pigtails, laughing. Her sibling was focused, tongue out, playing with a toy.
Unable to look away.
I had dreamed of this existence until circumstances changed my life.
“Excuse me, madam?”
I blinked as I realized dad was talking. A tall man with kind eyes and a scruffy chin.
“Yes?” I managed to grin, hoping to be nice.
Would you mind snapping a quick picture of us? My wife has labored over this with the kids all day.”
“Oh, of course,” I said, taking his phone.
The mom looked at me as I framed the shot. A pleasant grin and “thank you.”
That moment, envy and longing cut me like a dagger. She didn’t realize how lucky she was to be here with her husband and two wonderful children.
I suppressed my emotions to capture their moment.
“Everyone say cheese!” Calling out.
The family smiled at me, their excitement almost hurting. Click. They captured their ideal moment forever.
“Thank you so much,” the parent replied as I returned the phone. “It’s rare we get a photo with everyone.”
I nodded, eager to leave. “No problem. Enjoy your day.”
My wife insisted on exchanging numbers, which I grudgingly did. Their laughter died out as I left. Their delight haunted them, a bittersweet reminder of what may have been.
Days passed. Life went on quietly and predictably. Repeat: work, home, sleep. That made it safer and easier. No surprises, no disappointments.
That evening on my patio. The sky turned pink and purple as the sun sank. I sat with my tea, resigned yet unhappy.
Even though it didn’t fit, it felt like an old sweater: comfortable.
As usual in quiet moments, my mind strayed to the park family. Their laughing and closeness awoke something in me. I pondered them.
Are they local? Did they frequent the park? I might see them again. What were their names?
For these views, I criticised myself. I didn’t usually focus on strangers, but they were living the life I should’ve had with Tom. I would have done anything to experience their joy.
I sipped my unpleasant drink, grimacing. Lost in my reverie, I let it steep too long. Smartphone buzzed as I prepared to make a new cup. The abrupt disturbance in the calm made me jump, nearly spilling tea.
I assumed it would work. My blood turned cold as I saw the screen.
“If you only knew what you did to our family.”
My cup fell and shattered on the patio tiles. I barely noticed tea splashing my feet. I could feel my heart racing in my throat.
Had I done what? My thoughts replayed every contact over the past few days. Who? The park family? Has anything happened? Was it my fault?
My throat ached from panic. Though I just touched their lives briefly, I damaged everything. As with Tom. He appeared and then disappeared. My God.
I paced the patio, bare feet crushing porcelain pieces. Pain was barely noticeable. My head was full of worst-case scenarios. Did I accidently photograph something I shouldn’t have? Was my presence responsible for a horrific accident?
My protective cocoon of seclusion felt suffocating.
No one was there to call or reassure me. I was alone with my rushing thoughts and this scary message.
I grabbed my phone with shaky hands and stared at the words until they blurred. Should I respond? Apologize? But for what? Insecurity was terrible.
Another message appeared before I could decide:
Dear Madam, you took our August 8th photo. My wife died yesterday, and this is our last family photo.”
The world paused. My ears ringing. I kept reading the message, hoping it would change. But they didn’t. I remembered the mother’s smile and loving gaze at her children. Gone. Just like that.
I kneeled, ignoring the broken cup. At the time, I envied and even loathed her for having what I wanted.
I was physically impacted by guilt and grief. For this family I barely knew and my loss, fresh and painful again.
Tom laughed, showed me his face, and held my hand. All my recollections, which I had attempted to forget, returned.
I typed a response with shaking hands:
I’m sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine your suffering.”
But I could. God, I could. Emptiness, disbelief, and a frantic need to rewind. I knew it too well. Wearing it felt like second skin. What could I say over the phone to soothe such pain?
His response was quick:
The day was ideal. Happy, she was. Thanks to you, we’ll remember.”
Hot, quick tears followed. My heart broke for that family, their mother, and their children who would only have memories. I sobbed for myself, Tom, and all the lovely days we missed.
Something changed inside me as I sobbed. A heartbroken family relied on that snapshot, a little courtesy I’d almost forgotten. A last, beautiful moment frozen in time was my gift to them.
I remembered Tom and our last snapshot. How I clung to it in those sad days after he died. Though small, it was something to grab onto when everything else seemed to be slipping away.
Maybe that’s life. A collection of precious moments, big and small. Even at our darkest circumstances, we can illuminate others.
My phone’s screen showed the man’s statements one last time. I took a big breath and did something I hadn’t done in years.
The last shot of Tom and me was in my gallery. I gazed at it without feeling overwhelmed by grief for the first time. Instead, I felt bittersweet thankfulness for our time.
I muttered, “Thank you,” to Tom, the family, and the cosmos. “Thank you for perfect days.”
Inspired by true events and people, this work is fictionalized for creativity. To preserve privacy and enrich the story, names, characters, and facts were changed. The author does not imply any resemblance to real people, events, or places.
The author and publisher neither guarantee event authenticity nor character characterization and are not liable for misinterpretation. While this work is presented “as is,” the characters’ viewpoints do not reflect those of the author or publisher.
From amomama.com
