Behind the Lens

Well, here it is. I finally braved giving you all a shot of what is behind my camera lens! I usually work really hard to stay hidden there because it's safe. If I were to be gone tomorrow and someone were to look through the thousands of pictures in my boxes and on my hard drive, they would see very little of me. Hundreds and hundreds of baby photos and dance photos and snow photos fill the gigabytes of space. My life is documented very well through the people I love, but I have done very little to document me for them.

Several months ago, my dear cousin passed away from cancer. She was 8 months older than me, which meant a very young and vibrant 38 years old. I will be 38 years old in 2 months from today. I am young. I have so much life to live. So did she. She had a loving husband, a wonderful son, a mother who doted on her, hundreds of friends, goals to complete, years to waste, moments to cherish and in a moment, it was all gone.

Even with some time to prepare, I wasn't prepared. It was last January that I got the phone call about her illness, but I didn't want to believe it would take her life. I think I was in denial, and unfortunately, I didn't rush to her bedside to spend what time I had with her. I was scared. I was scared what it would be like to see her, to feel the thick unspoken fears around us and not know how to speak. That fear kept me away from some precious time I could have had with her. In fact, I didn't overcome it enough until it was almost too late. At the end of August, 3 weeks before she passed, I packed up the baby and we drove to St. George. By that time, I knew I didn't have much time left and setting aside the regret, I wanted to see her. I felt so much fear. What if she was mad at me for not coming sooner? What if the silence would be too awkward? What would I say? How do you look at someone who you grew up with like a sister and prepare to say goodbye?

Well, sometimes, you just do it. You just walk in that room and let all the love you feel and hold back because it hurts, just do the talking for you. We sobbed and held each other and there was no anger or hurt for my failings, she just loved me and felt so grateful to see me. Even as I type this, I can hardly breathe because of the tears and the memory and the love that I feel for this person. I miss her every day, and I think about her and the family she left behind every day.

But, it was a defining moment for me. I realized that life is short and moves very quickly. It's like a shooting star that has it's moment of brillance but can be gone so quickly you almost wonder if it really happened at all. I can't afford to just let each day come and go. The time is way too precious. I don't have time to feel insecure about who I am and spend my life hiding--hiding behind a camera, hiding at a computer, hiding in the corner at social function. I am so good at hiding. Even with this picture of me, you don't see it all. You don't see my wide thighs and greying hair. You don't see the insecurities that continue to hold me back, time and time again. I am working on those. Not on getting rid of it, necessarily, but working on not feeling ashamed of who I am. I want to live every moment of the life I have left, and in a part, do it for her. Live what she didn't get a chance to, so that when we are together again, I can tell her all of my adventures and she can tell me hers!

What is behind your lens?