Just Write: Pictures

John was clearing out the garage this weekend, and he set aside a box from my mother's basement that was loaded with old pictures.

The minimalist in me wanted to toss them into the the recycling bin, but I couldn't stop looking at the faces that had once been so important in my life

the wrinkled hands laced together, anchoring my small body on their laps

the smiling eyes locked onto all of the great-grand babies spread out across the couch

their full hearts apparent and full across their lips as little arms wrapped themselves around their necks.

I called my grandmother this morning to chat and to ask if she and my grandpa would come visit Friday and spend the day with the boys while John and I tended to the many things calling our names.

My kids cheered and hollered, a surge of joy and exclamation at the thought of grandma and papa coming for the day.

And I wonder if they'll look at pictures one day when they are grown and linger for just a few minutes whispering gratitude

that mere pictures can bring them to a dead halt

when they're clearing out the garage

take their hearts captive with memories

for days after.

And I hope they'll know that they've become the people they've grown to be

in part

because of those hands

those hearts

those eyes

who long held them beyond the carrying years.