The Last Picture

Grant had been dead for almost 3 months.

I took the boys to Cornbelly’s. It’s a fall festival with all sorts of fun turn-of-the-season games including a corn maze. It was nearly Halloween.

It was the first ‘fun’ thing I’d taken the boys to do on my own. Games, carnival rides, and mazes… with 4 boys who are completely independent, who love to roam, climb and explore everything, this is heaven for them.

Quite likely it will be the opposite for me, who would want to know where they were at all times and, ideally, stay together. Together never happens at these places. As soon as we get somewhere, the boys are off, running somewhere.

They are explorers, like their dad. Explorers do not easily stay contained. I had the baby in a baby backpack. The one who I’d have control over his whereabouts. I had a dream the other 2 younger ones would hold each of my hands. That’d be 3. That was a dream that lasted for about 10 minutes.

The oldest, I knew there was no hope of keeping track of him, so we designated a meeting place. In between the fire-easy to spot and the big rocking chair, the one that could hold at least 4 adults. This seat grazed the top of my hairline. Ok so I had a plan… mostly.

After the first 20 minutes of experiencing the delights of this activity, I had 1 holding my hand. I had the baby and the 5 year old. The one who still likes to hold my hand.

I figured the older boys had gone to the maze so I headed that way with the two littles prepped for a fun corn maze experience. I entered the maze as the sun was setting. I knew we had to finish before the sun set or we’d be stumbling over corn and hay in the dark.

I was about 30 steps in and just past the bridge where you see the whole maze if you climbed to perch on the top of the platform. This view of the whole maze and perspective on the best path to take…felt symbolic.

I noticed a family just in front of us. There looked to be what I’d guess was a Grandma, Grandpa, their grown kids and their kids children-a bunch of kids of all sizes.

The Grandpa who looked less than thrilled to be there, stood off to the side. Who I’d guess was his wife and the Grandma tried to gather the herd for a picture.

It was a perfect place and time. The sun was setting, they were all there, and it was a moment. Grandpa seemed the biggest problem to get into place. He just stood there, not wanting to budge.

In all my baby-packing, 5 yr old hand holding and looking for 2 other kids' glory; I asked if they wanted me to take the picture so Grandma could be in it. “I’d be happy to”, I said.

Why? Well, when I look back on our family pictures from before my husband was gone, there wasn’t one within 2 months of Grant’s death that had all of us in it. There were lots of photos taken to be sure, but none had all of us as a family. It’s a regret.

Grandpa didn’t want to get in the photo despite his family’s pleas. I said, come on, get in the picture (sometimes the stranger has more influence). He looked at me with my kid pile and probably felt bad for me or just wanted to get on with it to get me on my way.

He slowly sauntered to his wife’s side with body language that said how he felt. He turned around with his shoulder slumped and a frown on his face, looking like a sloth posing for the picture.

His family was giddy with excitement as if he’d never agreed to be in a picture before, maybe he hadn’t. He wouldn’t smile. I snapped the shot. As I did, in my mind I thought, you never know when it’ll be the last picture you’ll take of someone.

This could turn into a treasure for your family if you died tomorrow, I thought in his direction. My husband did die. You have no idea what I would give to take one more picture with him in it. I can’t. He’ll never be in a picture again.

This is now a treasure for your family. Trust me I know. I treasure every picture I have that my husband is in, even though I can’t look at one right now.

I started to feel like I’d burst into tears at that moment. I was without my husband, had momentarily two lost kids and was now mourning the fact I’d never have another picture with him in it.

Instead of the breakdown I would have liked to have, I headed to the fire to hopefully meet up with my other kids. Thank goodness it was getting dark as my eyes shined with tears that didn’t fall.

I found the second boy on the way there. We got to the fire, found some lemonade and waited. I was still down one kid. Where was he?

There’s no way I can go looking for him. I need him to come back. I need to go home. I need to crawl under my covers and go to sleep. And that can’t be till after I get all the kids teeth brushed, jammies on, and prayers said. I had a lot that stood between me and those covers.

Please come here. I silently begged my oldest.

Grant, I called out loudly in my soul, go get your son and bring him to me. I need to go home. I need to sleep. Three minutes later that last boy appeared. He heard the call. They both did. Maybe I’m not so alone.