Photographic Memory (The Last Photos of Cindy)

Back in September 2008, during the weekend of the 13th, Cindy drove down to Virginia Beach to attend her mother's 40-year school reunion. At first, Cindy felt bad about missing my birthday (which was on 9/14), but I knew how important this was for her. And as I've said before, I thought I had a lifetime of birthdays to spend with Cindy. I had no idea this was going to be my last one with her. And even though this weekend was extremely busy for Cindy with school and work, she dropped everything (and sacrificed much of her mental well-being) to go to this event with her mother.

Out of the almost 150 photos she took during the weekend, someone managed to capture two photos of her. 

The one at the top of this blog posting is typical Cindy--she is hiding behind someone else in the photo (in this case her mother). Her brother, Ricky, appears on the right side of Cindy.

The photo below contains Cindy, her mother (on the very left) and her mother's two childhood friends.

If Cindy knew I was posting all these photos of her throughout the blog, she would be on fire. She would often say, "I take the pictures, I don't need to be in them." If you did succeed in actually getting her to be in your photo, Cindy would somehow find a way to crouch behind the tallest person or expose only her head above the shoulders of the two people in front of her.

Cindy's brother asked me for copies of these photos ages ago, but it has taken me three months to compile them. Is it hard for me to look at these photos? To answer that question with a simple "yes" would be an understatement. For me, looking at these final photos of Cindy from the reunion or even from the Labor Day half marathon we did is like staring at a set of x-rays. I am looking for warning signs, clues that the aneurysm was going to burst, a tell-tale sign that I missed months ago. 

When I first met Cindy, she said that I reminded her of Superman because even though I was awkward like Clark Kent, I was also strong and had bright blue eyes like Superman. Sometimes she would even call me "her" Superman.

But now, I disavow that nickname. If I was truly her Superman, I would have been able to save her. I couldn't save her. I didn't save her. I should have been able to keep her healthy. To force her to quit smoking sooner. To get her blood pressure down. To help her lose weight. To make her take it easy. To stop her from living four different lives. To sit on the beach with me. To sleep more. To love me forever. To be alive. To be with me right now.

I want her to be with me right now.

There are moments where I still can't believe she is not here with me. It's inconceivable. The pictures are all I have left and they will age along with me. And one day I will live to be older than the Cindy in these photographs and that was never supposed to happen.