My photo for today is not an actual photograph. It is a mental snapshot I will carry with me. I did have my camera with me at the time the photo op presented itself. In fact, that is why my previous Project 365 attempts failed. My camera is not a compact point and shoot that I can tuck into my purse or pocket. It is a substantial piece of equipment that I always carry in its case. Previous attempts to take a picture each day failed because I got tired of always lugging my camera bag with me, especially in the winter when I was wearing a heavy coat. But I have been diligent this month since (re)starting Project 365 and carry my camera with me almost all the time. So, the reason I don’t have an actual photo is not because I was unprepared. And it’s not because I missed the shot. That happens to me a lot. The hummingbird has left the hibiscus by the time I get my camera focused. Or I get the shot, but when I load my photos onto my computer, it’s blurred. And I’m not a big fan of staging, so I’m usually resistant to trying to recreate the moment. It feels like cheating somehow. But that wasn’t the case either. The thing was that this moment was just too sweet, too tender, to intrude upon. My uncle is in a hospice care facility. A once-vibrant man is slowly withering away. After battling numerous illnesses and ailments for many years, my uncle doesn’t have any more fight left in him. Or, more to the point, he has the fight in him but it appears with decreasing frequency and intensity. Today, I sat with my aunt while she kept vigil at his bedside. A few days ago, he tried to get out of bed and fell, so the nurses have pushed a few heavy, overstuffed chairs next to his bed to hopefully prevent another fall. Physical restraints are not in keeping with hospice philosophy. My uncle knew my aunt today, but thought I was one of the nurses. Typically, he is what you would call a good patient. And today, even though his skin was unbearably itchy and a sore on his upper arm was bothering him, he was courteous in his conversation with the various nurses about these symptoms. His eyes had a puzzled cast to them as he listened to one nurse explain that she had already given him the medication to soothe the itching and already put a bandage on his sore arm. When she left the room, my aunt knelt on one of the chairs and leaned over the back to reach her husband. While she adjusted his blankets, his eyes never left her face. She looked at him and softly told him the medicine would start working soon and gently stroked his face. This moment was my photo for today.
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