Paper Memories: What I Found While Spring Cleaning

I've been doing some serious spring cleaning this year, especially tackling the closets in our house. I have to admit, there are things in a few closets that have been there since we moved in almost 10 years ago—things I completely forgot we even had.

And then I opened a box of photographs.

Not photos on my phone or in the cloud. Actual, physical, developed-from-film photographs.

The Last Generation With Paper Memories

As a Gen Xer, we're probably the last generation to have this many physical photos. I recall patiently waiting for my pictures to be returned from the local Walgreens—remember when they got one-hour photo? That was quite the discovery!

And when you did look at the pictures, they were sometimes blurry and out of focus. No one was actually looking at the camera. Someone's eyes were shut. Or God forbid, half your finger blocked the photo.

That was the excitement of it, though—getting those "no extra cost doubles" back and seeing if any of them actually turned out.

A Life in Boxes

As I've been going through bins, boxes, and drawers, I realize that most of my life is captured on these paper memories.

I found pictures of my childhood with my sisters. Some from high school and college years.

Many of when my husband and I were dating in college. And lots and lots of our daughters, all the way back to when they were born.

It really wasn't until my oldest daughter was later in elementary school that cameras on cell phones started coming into the mainstream. Before that, we had digital cameras, and I'm sure there are memory cards in these boxes that hold long-lost memories too.

One Photo, A Thousand Memories

I sent my sister one of the pictures I found from my college graduation dinner in 1997. We went to a German restaurant near Stevens Point, Wisconsin, with a big group. In the photo, sitting at a long table, you can see me, my fiancé, my parents, my sisters, my sister's boyfriend, my Aunt Joyce and Uncle Ray, my grandparents, my Uncle Richard and Aunt Robin, and our friend Rob.

It's amazing how one picture can stir up so many memories.

My sister went on to marry her then-boyfriend, and they'll soon be celebrating 26 years of marriage with three kids—the last one graduating high school this year. (I can't believe how long my brother-in-law's hair is in that picture!)

Of course, I went on to marry my fiancé. We have 27 years and two kids to show for it. I'm mostly blocking my husband in this picture, and I look as if I didn't know anyone was taking it.

Our friend Rob was one of the groomsmen in our wedding—but we haven't seen him in many years now.

The Weight of Time

My sister pointed out something that stopped me in my tracks: five of the 14 people in that picture have passed away since it was taken.

Both my parents. Our youngest sister, Ashley, who is sitting right next to me at that restaurant.

My Aunt Joyce and Uncle Richard, both gone from cancer way too soon.

It's funny how a picture captures that moment in time—suspended as if it just happened. Frozen in a world where we're all still together, still laughing, still celebrating.

The Happy Ones Too

There are other pictures in these boxes that capture happy memories: finishing my first 5K race, my husband catching his prize muskie, my older daughter's preschool class on the school playground, our first apartment with our beloved first cat, Shad.

Many, many more are in there, and I'll enjoy going through them all.

What They Mean Now

I hope to better organize all of these over the next few weeks. They deserve a better fate than just being strewn about in boxes.

Unlike the pictures on my phone—which I of course also appreciate—there's something nostalgic and comforting about being able to physically touch these photos. To hold them in my hands. To pass them to my sister and say, "Remember this?"

These paper memories are more than just images. They're proof that these moments happened. That these people existed. That we were all together once, captured in time, before life moved forward and took some of them with it.

I'm grateful I found them. And I'm grateful I can hold them, one by one, and remember.