The Kiss

My parents were married 94 years ago today. If I recall correctly from Mom’s account,

it was a small, quiet celebration of their devotion to each other. They went on to raise eight children, and lived long enough to see their 68th anniversary.  

This photograph was taken and hand colored to honor their Silver Anniversary in 1956. It had a special place on my parents’ dresser. I was three years old at the time, and from the moment they showed it to us kids, that photo - the elegant frame too for that matter - fascinated me. Through the years I'd wander into the room just to stare at it. It represented my whole world.

Many years later, a couple of years after Dad died and Mom was aging gracefully, I was chatting with her while she dressed for the day. The photo was on her bedside table, and I noticed a smudge. “Mom, the glass on your photo is dirty” I said, and approached to wipe it off. I stopped in my tracks when I saw that the smudge was an impression of her lips. Speechless, I held it up to her, pointing to the spot. She glanced at it for a second then continued dressing. ”Well, I still need to kiss him goodnight” she said.

I don’t know who eventually wiped that glass clean but it made me sad.

Taking pictures these days is easy and cheap, and we often lose appreciation of the value that an image can hold. Food photos and selfies are ubiquitous. When do we notice that a photograph is exceptional, or even sacred?

If you were allowed only one photo in your home, which would it be?