When I was little my Dad had the most enormous brown camera bag. At least it seemed enormous to me at the time. It was probably just a regular sized camera bag, but I can remember feeling as if it was big enough for me to climb inside. Except it was always full, so I could never investigate the accuracy of this particular assumption.

Most of the pictures I have in my head of my Dad from when I was very little feature his Nikon camera, it’s black and yellow strap firmly placed around his neck. He photographed everything. Of course these were the days before digital, he used real film. Roll after roll of real film.

Mum had a matching camera too. I’ve always had the feeling that photography was something they did together. Once developed, the photos were always marked with a ‘P’ on the back for my Mum and a ‘J’ for my Dad.

Once upon a time, in a world before children, Mum and Dad even set up their own dark room in the bathroom of their pokey west London home. I love picturing the two of them developing their black and white photographs together in that room.

My memories of my parent’s separating are fairly hazy. I remember they told us on a Thursday after school. Dad came home from work early, which was practically unheard of and an instant giveaway to my 9 year old self that something wasn’t quite right.

We sat on the blue sofa and Dad told us he’s fallen out of love with Mum. I call that sofa the ‘bad news’ sofa. A few years later we sat there while Mum explained that dad had cancer. I’d just climbed out of the shower and sat shivering in my bath towel. A little while later we sat there again while Dad told us he wouldn’t be getting better. The tension was broken by the loud milky burp of a 5 week old Isabel. When Mum sold the house I sat on that blue sofa and sobbed. I’m not sure why, I just know that I hate that sofa.

I digress.

I think dad left on the Saturday. He moved in with a friend and I don’t think he took that much with him at the time. I’m sure he came back and collected bits and pieces but much of his stuff stayed. The photo albums and all the negatives from those rolls and rolls of film used to live under a dresser in the dining room. Perhaps ownership was contested, like I said, Mum and Dad took many of their photos together. Or maybe he just didn’t want to cart around all those memories as he moved on and into his new life with the woman who is now my step-mum.

Strange thing is. He stopped taking pictures altogether. For years. There are hardly any photos of my sister and I at our Dad’s home as small children. I’ve never seen photographic evidence of the often painful and fairly fraught ‘family’ holidays we took with him either. I remember once asking him why, why he’d stopped when his photographs were so good, so beautiful. He told me he didn’t see the point, an answer I’ve never been able to understand or decipher.

I’m sure that more than a decade had passed before he finally invested in a digital camera and slowly began snapping away again. In the brief 10 months that he knew his Granddaughter he took some of the most beautiful photographs of her. They are quite simply my most favourite baby pictures of Isabel. As for the few photos I have of her with my Dad, well, I think I’d probably re-enter a burning building just to rescue them. They are so indescribably precious to me.

Mr. LA and I spent the best part of this weekend agonising over our choice of wedding photographer. I always knew it was going to be a tricky decision for us, because I grew up surrounded by great photography and because the Mister wields a camera himself for a living, his pictures just happen to move.

And again I find myself surprised by the way my mind works and the way my emotions about loosing my Dad are drawn to the surface. Not that my Dad would have photographed our wedding, he’d have been far too busy enjoying himself for that.

It’s just that the decision felt like such a big one because I know that over time the photos will come to mean so much.

One day, they’ll be the only tangible things left.

Loveaudrey xxx

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