She didn’t eat last night. She didn’t holler at me this morning for her morning meal. She merely took a trip to the litter box, vomited up some bile, then went back to her pillows by the heater grate. She’s very quiet this morning, and my heart is starting to break.
I’m told you aren’t supposed to call them wrinkles. I’m getting to be okay with wrinkles. It means I’ve made it this far. And that beats the alternative.
One of the reasons I chose to do a year of self-portraits was to push myself photographically. I knew that there would be times when I would feel silly, or ugly, or uncomfortable. I knew there would be times when I would hesitate before posting an image.
This image below is one of those hesitations. Taken nearly a month ago, I have sat on this one for weeks, wondering when, or if, I would ever have the courage to publish it.
This photograph speaks to me, and it speaks for me. It is both an image of my aging body and a symbol of it – beginning to show the wear of time – but still mine, and still strong.
My pick for this week’s photo challenge probably has everything to do with the fact that Dad is in surgery today. Again.
Dad at three.
Dad at eighty-three
Carissa Snedeker Photography 