This was originally posted to my facebook business page on August 31st, 2017. I wanted to bring it over to my personal blog for posterity.
I’m sorry but I am going to get a little sentimental here. This is hard for me to write and I am doing so through tears as I have just looked back through some albums in preparation for this post.
(breath….)
I don’t share much personal stuff in my life. Certainly not here on my business page and not even much in real life. Many of my actual friends will not even be aware of what I am about to share here.
When Missy Mwac posted this photo along with the story behind the image it hit home for me. REAL HARD! As a photographer, I had not really thought about the impacts of the images we take. I was just taking photos. The significance of this had not really occurred to me. Maybe because I do lock away much of my emotions? I don’t open myself to the world and share myself. I’ve been through some things many don’t, well not at the age I did. Which makes this post even harder.
5th of March 1979. I was the tender age of 8 months old. My father, Raymond Currey, was killed in an industrial accident at Queensland Alumina Ltd, Gladstone, Queensland. Cause of death is a cardiac arrest from second and third-degree chemical burns to 90% of his body. I obviously have no memories of him. ALL I have are the very few photos of a proud dad holding his only child. One of my personal favourites is the series of him giving me a sip of his beer and me crying as he took it away.
There wasn’t much time for him to get photos with me. And they certainly would not have been the type to get formal photos. But much has changed since then and family photos are far more common.
But that isn’t where my story ends.
I, of course, had a mother who doted on her baby boy. I’m sure my brothers and sister would confirm I was treated extra special. Maybe as the only son to my father who was tragically taken away from my mother? But with meagre means, I still had an amazing childhood and grew up happy. I’m pretty sure my mum was superwoman. There was nothing that amazing woman couldn’t achieve.
22nd July 2000, eleven days after my 22nd birthday my mother finally succumbed to bowel cancer.
At an age when many are finding themselves and are reaching those milestones in life that make parents proud, I had lost my sole remaining parent, my rock, my inspiration, the woman who fiercely loved her family, the one person in this world that showed me no matter what life throws at you, you will get through it.
Of course, I had 22 years of photos with my mum. And I took those years for granted and thought there would be plenty more. But now that is all I have. I now have a daughter of my own and all I can do is show her photos of the lady who would have doted over her too, every bit as much as she did me. As much as she did all of her beloved grandchildren.
Imagine if I didn’t have any photos? I’d just be talking about some random person. Photos give that person a life, even if they are no longer with us. They document where you’ve been, what you’ve done, who you really are. We are the most photographed generation in history. But if you don’t print them, they will be lost, forever. There ain’t nobody who will be handing down a USB full of family photos. But albums and prints will live on. They will be shared from generation to generation.
