Source: http://shutterstock.com
She crept into the room upstairs. It had heaps of cobwebs - it didn't help that she was arachnophobic.
She made her way over to the chest and to the books.
Where were those photos? Her Grandma was wonderful at keeping all sorts of the things from the old days, but she was lousy at organizing.
She systematically worked her way through all of the piles of papers. Looking for photos, looking for the past.
She wanted one thing. Aphoto of her father. Any photo of her father as a child.
It made her cry, how little of the past had been preserved. She wanted to share him, share his life. These days, everybody takes a photo at a glance.
Finally she found one - a photo of her father as a little boy. Black and white. He was sitting on his father's knee. It was perfect. Perfect to share. She grabbed it. As she pulled it out, she saw another photo - on of her, sitting on her father's shoulders at a family party. She started to cry. She pulled that one out as well. Never knew it existed.
Her father's funeral is tomorrow - she can show everyone what he meant to the generations around him in those pictures. The pictures that had been hiding in the attic.