Well, it's Thursday. In social media circles this is the day where people post old photos of themselves, family and friends. Some go way back causing those of us who were teenagers in the 80s some serious shame and regret. Some show photos of college parties or weddings. Most - at least in my circle of friends - are posted by parents of their children.
We remember the awe of peeking at pink newborns swaddled tight. We giggle at toddlers with cake smeared on their faces on 1st birthdays. We zoom in on baby faces, looking for familiar traces of the teenagers who tower over us now. We lament the lightening quick passage of time, commenting, "How did she grow up so fast?" and "What happened to this little pudgy toddler?" and "This baby is going to college?!"
In theory, I could choose a Throwback Thursday photo of my children from last year, last summer or even from last week.
But, what if as each day passed, my options for Throwback Thursday grew farther and farther in the distance? What if I had no choice but to scroll down weeks, then months, then years to find a photo of my child? What if I didn't have a new photo to compare to my old photo? What if all of the images of my child stopped at age thirteen? Or five? Or two?
This question stirred my heart at Curefest this past weekend - a national gathering to raise awareness for pediatric cancer which took place in Washington DC. This reality hit me hard as I walked among throngs of grieving families after spending most of my summer away from fundraisers and awareness events. Time had marched on for me, for my children, and for the world around us. The question nagged me, Does time, in fact, heal the wounds of my friends?
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