Faded Photograph

This is a photo of my father that was taken well before I was born. My father turned 51 the year I finally came along. Number 5 in a brood that spanned 17 years from oldest to youngest.

I decided to share this photo tonight rather than saving it for Father's Day, as it reminded me of just how fragile life is. Back in February, my brother's heart suddenly stopped, and he went to the great beyond for about 5 minutes. He was fortunate that paramedics were only a few doors away and that he went down in a coffee shop where someone immediately started CPR.

My father was not so fortunate. He had a massive heart attack and stroke, three months after turning 60. There were no hospitals nearby, and he died at our Lake House with his best friend by his side, and my mom on the telephone, fighting back the pain that she would soon release in a mournful cry of grief.

Today, I had a brief interaction with my brother, who ironically, was at Seneca Lake, just a short ride from our family's former summer home. He was happy and said he felt like he was back home. It was a blast from the past, and made me wish I could be transported back in time to those wonderful family weekends with my parents, siblings, and the various guests that graced our place every week.

I often write about the tattoos on my soul, and for me, those days at Seneca Lake will remain forever blazoned in the deep essence of my being. A place where memories reside.