You know everyone always talks about how when you meet the right person you'll just know. But me? I don't believe any of that crap. Broken hearts and miserable lives is all that results from these false fantasies. What I do know about love is that it can go as fast as it came; trust me, I know. I've seen it happen multiple times. I guess the only couple I truly believed would make it would be my parents, and guess what, they never did.
You see, my mom was an aspiring artist, at least that's what she called herself and she kind of was at the time. In reality she was just a photographer hoping someone would notice that her pictures were unique, with just that touch of pixie dust as she used to tell me.
At first people didn't like it, this new way of seeing things. But then one man in particular came along and "accidentally" took my mom's camera case claiming he thought it was his briefcase and he would never do such a thing just to get a girls attention. We all knew the truth though, and so did he. It wasn't until after my mom died that he started confessing to these so called sins of a relationship; and when I say he would've done anything to get her back, I mean anything. We would find him sobbing at her grave begging her to come back, telling stories of what was going on at home and work and how much he needed and extra set of hands, something she'd complain about daily.
He would even whisper to her at night saying,"Annette, please. At least send someone to help me. The kids and I need your sarcastic humor and a real cook, not my pathetic excuse of dinner." And his dinners, well, they could use a little help; usually consisting of Kraft Mac n'cheese and hot dogs, the only thing he really knew how to make. They were great in all, at first that is, so I stepped up as the family chef making all the breakfasts and dinners, and, if I was feeling nice, dessert. My older brother, Nick, would make sure all the yard work was done, and the twins Acacia and Drew, being only 11 at the time, became masters of doing dishes and the rest of the house work was divided among the four of us.
About a year after she died, Dad just stopped going to her grave. No more daily talks with mom asking her how she dealt with all of us or why she had to get in that car. No more moping around the house either. It was as if he was a new man. We lost connections with her family, only receiving the occasional Christmas or birthday card. He was trying to delete her completely. The only acceptable thing to talk about was how the sales on her photos were going.
Remember how I said that no one liked her style? Well one husband and five kids later she was famous for her work. In fact, that's how we met one of her most trusted friends, Elizabeth Hemmings otherwise known to us as Auntie Liz.
Auntie Liz is a math teacher in Sydney, Australia. She, herself, always loved photography, so when the two of them met, instant friendship. They would go on adventures all the time, taking pictures of everything they saw, even the gum on the sidewalk. Sounds weird, but they were cool. Then Dad got a job offer in Los Angeles, and we moved. We lost contact and honestly forgot they existed until we got an email asking for us to meet up with her while she was in town. That is where my story begins.
