What Do You See?

What do you see?  Do you see an old man?  Of course you do, for that is what he is, an old man nearing the end of his journey.  He sleeps most of the time, rarely talks, doesn't remember much.  And that, if you don't know him, is all you can see when you look at these photographs.  That is the limitation of photography and, in fact, a limitation of our eyes.  We can only capture what is visible in that moment in time; we don't see the broad spectrum of what makes that person who he is; we don't see the rich and varied history of his life.

You see an old man. I see my father.  You see white hair, age spots and wrinkles.  I see the gentle, good-humored, kind and dependable man who helped raise me.  You see his current uselessness, while I see a gymnast, a musician, a band teacher, a fisherman, a handyman, a fellow who worked hard, dressed like Mister Rogers and was lovingly faithful to his wife.  You see a man who no longer interacts with his world; I see someone who read to his children, took them on endless camping trips, went swimming with them often every summer, told funny stories, whose knees creaked as he came running up the stairs at night saying, "you kids settle down up there!" and who much later quietly grieved the loss of his oldest daughter.   And even what I see isn't all there is to the man.  Think what his wife and parents could tell, what they could add to our understanding of his life.  Yet with all of that, our picture still isn't complete, for only God knows the deepest parts of a man's soul.

What do you see?  What can any of us really see?  Pray that the God Who Really Sees would open our eyes and give us compassion for those who can no longer tell us who they are.  

Me in my Dad's lap