Five years ago, my then twelve-year-old granddaughter Daniella, who has a learning disability that makes conversation challenging for her, developed a passion for photography. Before that, it had been art. But in the summer of 2015, there was nothing she liked better than to go to the local Rose Garden to photograph the flowers. While I have never been much of a gardener, I treasure the memory of the time we spent together in this little garden where she used my iPhone to take countless pictures.
I still have her pictures somewhere on my phone, but more importantly, I have the memory of sharing those wonderful summer days in the Rose Garden.
Daniella was fascinated by light and shadow and many of the photos she took in the Rose Garden captured her own shadow or shadows at play on the benches.
She also loved the small fountain and taking pictures of the water as it flowed. While the roses were pretty, they were probably the least exciting aspect of the garden for her. She did attempt close-up photos of flowers, but most of the time, she favored the larger landscape that featured trees, and sky, and even a church steeple in the distance.
We printed out her favorite photos and put them in a scrapbook, which I’m sure was consigned to the trash long ago. But that’s not what really matters, of course. Rather, it was the time we shared together as she pursued her passion at that moment. Once she had her own phone, I foolishly assumed she would continue taking beautiful pictures for many years. Instead, she discovered apps and music, which replaced photography as her new obsession.
I still have her pictures somewhere on my phone, but more importantly, I have the memory of sharing those wonderful summer days in the Rose Garden and finding a way to communicate that didn’t require her to work so hard to find the words. Her pictures spoke for her.
Boomer. Educator. Advocate. Eclectic topics: grandkids, special needs, values, aging, loss, & whatever. Author: Terribly Strange and Wonderfully Real.