Memories never forgotten

Memories never forgotten

The story began inside a small, cold wedding hall filled with many people who never got quiet. There were two columns of meticulously organized crimson chairs: a chair beside a chair and a chair in front of a chair, and in between the columns was a long maroon carpet, in which the bride and the groom walked side by side, holding each other’s hands. Wearing a bright white dress, the bride carried a colorful bouquet as they both marched through. After they reached the end, two phenomenal golden chairs were waiting for them. Although it wasn’t too fancy or expensive, it was a very exceptional event for everyone; it was my mom and dad’s wedding. This was a wedding that everyone wanted to remember. Dozens of pictures have been taken; of the lovely wedding couple, the little dancing girls in long blue skirts, the amazingly tall vanilla cake, and all the other cheerful things. It was just outstanding.

After a few weeks from the wedding, many of the family members, including my mom and dad, gathered at my grandmother’s house for a family dinner. After everyone enjoyed the delectable meal, one of my uncles suggested they all view the wedding photographs, as they would bring back joyful memories; everyone agreed happily. However, when my grandma got the camera that stored the photos, it wasn’t working. My mom panicked, so everyone started applying methods and techniques they knew in the hopes of fixing it, but every attempt to resolve the problem failed. After losing hope of restoring the camera, everyone sat so silently; for a whole hour, all they could hear was the ticking of the clock until they all left, one by one. Until today, no one has ever forgotten that one family dinner at Grandma’s.
One month later, Grandma invited everyone again, but it wasn’t just dinner this time; it was time to introduce the family’s newest members: the photo albums. They were small, attractively colorful albums, each of which could hold up to fifty photos. With their smooth outer covers, these albums were hidden by my grandmother somewhere safe. She said that from now on, everyone must put all the family photographs only inside these albums; nothing stays exclusively in cameras or phones. She added, “These albums will hold all our family’s stories, stories that generations and generations would know about even if no one alive can recall them.”

Many years passed, and the albums got filled with more remarkable memories of spectacular people. Fresh faces have been introduced into the albums over time. Birthdays, weddings, parties, newborn babies, and even silly random pictures the camera has captured have all shaped the albums.

In her final years, my grandmother mostly worked – she wasn’t too old – and there was nothing worth remembering about those years. Therefore, one day she decided that these notable books of memories did not belong with her anymore, yet she only could give them to someone she trusts: someone who’ll take care of them and not forget about them; someone who’ll share them with their children and tell them all about the many stories hidden in each page; someone like my mother. My mother felt fortunate to receive the albums – as she has many siblings – and promised to take excellent care of them.

When my mother revealed to us the albums for the first time, we were amazed – they were so spectacular. They were nothing like any albums we have ever seen before – they were so chromatic and full of life.

When I was young, my mother used to bring the albums (from where she’s hiding them) every weekend, and we would all gather to see. We used to laugh at each other’s baby pictures. There were also all our birthday parties – most of which we couldn’t recognize – with balloons everywhere and a big chocolate cake every time. Back then, everyone was happy, and we were pleased to watch these memories and remember the better days. We would also see the charming weddings of my aunts and uncles, but not my parents’.

These photo albums are not just books we own; they’re part of us now, and losing any of them would mean losing a big piece of the family. The last and only memory of my grandma, who I only saw when I was a child, is in the albums. Year after year, we got busier and busier with school and work and found less time for family time and eventually for the albums.

Today, these photo albums reside inside my mother’s large, gray closet, almost untouched. But whenever there is a new family story worth remembering, they will always be there until it’s finally time for my mother to give them up to one of us. Then a new journey begins, with new unique stories the albums could save. And no matter how many generations and generations keep their stories in these photo albums, the early ones shall never be forgotten.

Thank You

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