Whilst flicking through my wedding album on the weekend, I came across a photo of my father with my husband. An innocent photo, a pleasant one even but nonetheless, it was one that caused an immediate reaction from me. My mother was taken aback by my display. Without control or realisation, I burst into tears, feeling sick from the image I was staring at. I instantaneously covered his face with my hand and tried to focus on something else.
“It’s just a photo!” flew from my mother’s lips. She could not believe he was still able to provoke this emotion in me. But it was more than that to me. It was a reminder of the feelings I had on my wedding day. When I should have been thrilled and excited, I was cagey and fraught. The notion and fact that he was at my wedding completely ruined my day. He had caused so much trouble in the months leading up to it that he never should have been invited but there was many other opinions flying around and plenty of judgement targeted at me, the unkind and selfish daughter.
Looking at him just brought it all back and now, there he is, embedded in my album, etched into the page and I cannot remove him.
I never expected to react that way especially to a simple photo.