Monday, 8 June 2009
Pictures of the people gone forever from my life
Here are three pictures, all taken by myself, of the people who have vanished from my life. The top one was taken last month and is the very last shot I have of Dad alive. We'd just been to Liphook in Hampshire so that he could keep a dental appointment (Dad used to live in Liphook and liked the dentist there). Appropriate that I shot him with a pint on the table and the pub grub he liked. It was at the Red Lion at Fernhurst. The centre one of Mum and Dad was taken in 2007. The bottom one is of Mum, my brother, and Dad, taken in 1995, the year my brother was killed in a car crash. Why have I survived them all? Is it just chance? Being the survivor makes you feel that life must not be wasted. How is that compatable with exploring one's identity, and pursuing radical changes that benefit only oneself? Is self-discovery a waste of time, or a necessary stage in the progression from child to adult, from taker to giver?