Missed Opportunity

The missed opportunity that I've come across did not come from a lack of space on a memory card or a changing of film or from letting the camera down at the wrong time. It comes from the complete reluctance to pick the camera up from the beginning.

Over the course of 6 months last year, from March to August, my grandmother had come from Puerto Rico to stay with me and my family due to a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Over time, I witnessed her slowly begin to deteriorate and weaken due to seeking out chemotherapy. One week she'd be lying in bed or up and about at home, the next she'd be bed-ridden at the hospital. On occassion I would sleep in a recliner next to her to keep eye in case she needed assistance with anything during the night.

Aside from seeing her slowly get worse, I witnessed the dynamic of my family change with her. I saw my mother become a matriarch of the house, running the household and keeping everyone else on track with their regime, as well as becoming overwhelmed with the situation at hand. I saw my grandfather slow down and turn into a stagnant, almost ghostly body within the house, moving from chair to chair and never breaking from his routine. I saw my younger brother work for the family, running errands to help with the circumstance at hand. My aunt visiting with her newborn son, her and my mother bonding after years of aggression towards each other. My grandparents renewing their vows in the living room. Being present the last few hours before my grandmother passed away in late August.

During these months, a mix of hope and fear, content and frustration, good days and bad, filled my house, moving in and out as each day progressed. My one huge mistake and my one regret was not being more active during these times. Taking a personal conservative approach to the matter at hand, I stayed out of the situation for as long as I could muster. A feeling of inadequacy and self-preservation held me back from actively capturing these moments as they played out, for the opportunity to look back and hold close to those times are now gone and they cannot be recovered.

That is not to say there is nothing to take away from the summer my family became shattered and whole all at once. Recently, we reconvened at my baby cousin's christening. My first instinct was to grab my camera, load it, and take as many photos as I could of him. I caught him with his mother, with his father, his godmother (my mother), in his curiosity as he reached out towards the very camera in my hands. In my eyes, he became the adhesive that kept us from falling apart that summer. And years from now, when he is older and curious, I'll have those pictures to show him, as a reminder of how vital a role he plays in our unconventional family dynamic.

My one regret is that I'll never be able to show the happiness he brought to a woman on her last days.