Family « Portrait Photography │ Naomi Figueroa

Tag: ‘Family’

Wondering

Monday, April 23rd, 2012

Eighteen years ago. My last chance to hug you, to be engulfed in your arms and whisper, “I love you,” to give you–my favorite–butterfly kisses. Did I hug you that day? Did you hold my hand or give me a kiss? I wish I could remember. But I was only 9.

Oh, how I long to hug you now! Not just to feel your warmth, to hear your heart beating and remember the sound of your voice, but to know what it feels like to hug my daddy when I’m no longer a little girl. How I wish I could have grown to know you as a friend, a companion.

Would we practice Spanish together? Would I sit for hours listening to your stories of life in Colombia? Oh, how I long to know of the years you spent growing up there, to know not just what it was like but how it impacted you as a person. Would you understand my heart and passion for Latin America? Really, truly understand because it was inside you, too, running deep in your veins? Would we still love hiking together, even though I’m now too big for you to carry on your shoulders? Would we talk on the phone? Would our personalities clash, us both being so strong-headed? Would I have made a habit of watching ice hockey with you, not because it interested me particularly, but because I just wanted to hang out with you? I’ve only ever known you as my daddy, which sort of gives someone a superhuman quality. What would it be like to know you as my friend, a fellow human being?

I never got that chance, and for that, I still shed tears. Eighteen years ago, my life changed when your life was taken. I have come to be thankful for the almost 10 years that I did have you, for the “I love you”s, the hugs, the butterfly kisses, for the silly games we played, for having a Daddy, because there are some who never get to experience either a loving daddy or a friend in their father.

Today, though, I want to know your hug.

Tags: Family, life, Personal
Posted in Personal--History | 8 Comments »

The Big One

Monday, February 28th, 2011

mountain hiking nature

When I was a girl, our family vacations consisted of going camping every summer, which included such adventures as biking, canoeing, swimming, going for drives to look for moose, exploring waterfalls, white-water rafting, and, of course, hiking. Ahh, hiking…there was nothing quite as lovely as reaching the top of a tall peak after a strenuous hike, enjoying a sandwich and a Diet Coke, with my dad reciting their old slogan “Just for the taste of it!” Each and every hike, I inevitably reached a point of exhaustion, and my daddy would hoist me up on his shoulders and carry me. Every hike.

Then one day it came time for the Big One. I’m not just talking “big-to-a-9-year-old-girl.” I’m talking, Maine’s highest peak, the northern point of the Appalachian Trail, considered to be one of the toughest climbs in New England and possibly the most difficult on the Appalachian Trail. And we weren’t just going to climb it, we were going to climb one peak, cross Knife’s Edge to get to another peak, and climb down. It was the Big One.

I’m not sure if I was just a little more grown up, or if it was my pink T-shirt that read “Don’t Give Up!” in fabric-painted letters…but I wanted to do this one on my own. We had a long hike up to one of the 5 peaks of the mountain, then began our trek across the Knife’s Edge. We finally made it across the jagged stone path when my dad asked me if he could carry me. I didn’t need him to…I could do it by myself (which, coincidentally, was my slogan from the time I was 2). I was big enough and strong enough to make it, and I had the endurance I would need to make it on my own.

I’ve learned now that what made that hike so special was not how strong or brave I was, nor how much I could brag about my accomplishments. Rather, it was the precious time spent with my family and memories that I’ll never be able to go back and change.

That was the last hike I remember with my dad. I’m so glad I wasn’t too stubborn to let him carry me that day.

Tags: Family, hiking, life, mountain, Personal
Posted in Personal--History | No Comments »

What Would Have Been

Monday, September 13th, 2010

I got off the phone with my mom on that Thursday night and had a pit in my stomach. “You’re the only one that’s not here,” she had told me as she recounted the names of all my uncles, aunts, and cousins who had come “home” to Maine from all over the country to celebrate my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. I had been at a college 12 hours from home for about 2 months, making new friends and finding new things to call “home,” but I desperately longed to be with my family that weekend, in everything I knew to be familiar.

I wanted it so badly that I started searching Greyhound for bus fares and times. “I only have one class on Friday morning,” I thought…”I wonder if I can afford the bus fare and bear riding on one for 16 hours.” God had blessed me with two amazing friends at the time, and I confided this crazy notion in one of them on Friday morning. She asked me why I don’t just drive…and she’d go with me. We started getting excited, and shared the news with a couple more friends who said they’d join as well. My pain turned into a building excitement as I thought about surprising my whole family by showing up Saturday morning unannounced. When we finally made it official that we were going that Friday afternoon, we ran around our dorm, screaming (as excitable freshmen often do), “ROAD TRIP!!!!”

We packed up quickly and made necessary preparations, and we were on the road by 6 PM. Yes, a 12 hour drive means we were driving all through the night. A night filled with crazy drivers harassing us (that’s a story for another day), relying on our trusty atlas, and being greeted by snow falling as we entered Maine.

Did I ever regret taking that crazy, spontaneous trip, having to drive through the night, not get any homework done, and missing classes on Monday? Nope, not for a second. Would I have regretted missing one of the last times our entire family was together while my grandpa was still healthy? I’m quite sure I would still have a pit of sadness when thinking about that weekend had I not been there.

Is there a risk you’re thinking about taking, or a decision you’re trying to make? Why are you afraid of taking the chance? Ask yourself what you would regret more–taking the chance and failing, or not taking it and always wondering what would have been?

I’m glad to know what would have been that weekend, and what was…will always bring a smile to my face.

Aren’t posts more interesting with pictures?