I took this picture in Glenwood Cemetery in Houston in March of 2008.
I had an assignment for a photography class, and my daughter, Catherine, agreed to be my subject. Bribery with Italian cream cake was involved.
Drew was with us in the cemetery. It was a bright day, and light filtered through the trees. He followed as I shot, through the light and shadow patchwork — from this monument to that, this idea and then another.
There is a later photograph of Drew that afternoon with the sheer black veil covering him; he wore a broad grin, incongruous with his black veil. He was a silly man. Catherine sat snuggled next to him. Hard drives are fragile things and that picture exists now only in my mind.
I give you another image.
Drew on the floor next to the hospital bed in our room at 2 a.m.. Dementia was setting in, and he had fallen getting out of the bed on his way to an imaginary meeting.
While he weighed less than 100 pounds, I could not lift him. At that moment, Catherine came in on cat paws, a flutter of light nightgown. We sat on either side of him and snuggled him close, the three of us together for the last time.
Thank you for visiting — for other articles on life and travel, browse the home page: