One does not simply remember what a photograph looks like, nor do they question what the people or items in the photograph are doing-- the visual part is easy. What one takes away from a photograph is much more complex than a picture, it is a feeling, a state of being, a sound, a smell, and from that comes a memory. I have always been fascinated with photographs. Every time you look at one, you are able to find something new. Pictures have a way with meaning different things to you as you grow old. From time to time I like to look through old photographs, sort of as a weird hobby, I don't know what it is but I have always loved looking at old pictures of myself. I remember coming across this amazing photograph of me and father's mother Rohna. There's really nothing abnormally beautiful about the photograph itself, it is just a picture of a grandmother holding her grandchild, but it is the feeling I get from the photograph, it is something unexplainable. I can't imagine how much love we felt for each other in that moment, we both look so fulfilled, so happy. I can smell her strong perfume and hear the sound of her voice whisper words of kindness in my tiny ears, and I can sense the warmness of her body, the goodness in her heart. It is photographs like these that allow me to remember my grandparents, not as pictures, but a real people. It has taken me years to pull from lost childhood memories, fading scents, and quiet voices in order to teach myself of who my grandparents were. It was not always like this.

Before I understood the importance of family and photographs, I was a four year old girl with an extremely entertaining actor for a father. I remember watching very mature films with my him when I was very young. One of my very first talents were being able to quote lines from movies like Vanilla Sky and American Beauty. My earliest memories as a child rest in both the magic of movies, and life in Hollywood. My family and I lived in a tiny blue house in Van Nuys, California, just thirty minutes away from Hollywood. Dad was going to be famous...I can recall sitting in my car seat at the back of an angry vehicle honking at city traffic. Dad took me to auditions with him all the time. I remember watching him on The Amanda Show at home with mom. He never had a solid spot on the show, it was more ofan on and off thing. I can remember lots of things about my dad, but I remember even more about the films and movies we watched together,they just stuck with me. Movies stuck with me more than people did,because in movies, there were always explanations for things. In life, things just sort of happened. I was six years old when all my grandparents had passed, and I did not understand much of anything regarding death or love or sadness. I can recall going to see my mother's mother, Cynthia, and I know that at that time, I had no i dealt was going to be the very last time I saw her. All I can remember is the fact that I kept looking down at the floor, and I wasn't a tall fascinated by the white tiles in the hospital, but by the frilly socks and tiny black high heeled shoes I was wearing that day. I was quite interested in the way they looked on my feet, and the click-clack noise they made against the floor. I remember sitting down in a chair much too big for me and looking out the window counting how many red and blue cars were passing by. I was looking out the window because I did not want to see what was inside that hospital room, I didn't want to see my grandmother. I was not sad because I did not understand, but I forced myself to cry, I knew it was the right thing to do.

When people die it forces you to question all sorts of things about yourself, your life, and God. Why did this happen to me? Why can't Ifeel true sadness? Why can't I remember? Why can't you help me remember? I need to remember...I started to feel guilty and wonder why so much time was lost. My young life soon became a puzzle with thousands of missing pieces. I began filling in the empty spaces with voices and mannerisms belonging to fictional characters in films. It wasn't until I got a bit older that I fully understood what a photograph was and how it could help me with my recollections of certain family members. Growing up, I knew my grandmother on my mother's side, Cynthia, as none other than the fabulous Mame played by Lucille Ball in the movie, Mame.The only things I knew of my grandmother Cynthia at the time were that she loved to spoil me, she'd buy me anything I asked for, she wore jewelry to bed, and she threw countless parties in her Las Vegas home. Mame was a lot like her. She threw loud parties with crazy people, drank lots of scotch, wore the most amazing clothes, and had a giving heart. I was fascinated with the character and definitely identified with her after my grandmother's passing. My grandfather Steve was extremely hard working and intelligent, and since I don't have many recollections of him, most of the holes in my memory are filled with the help of the character Atticus played by Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird.I'm pretty sure I only met my grandparents on my father's side a handful of times due to the fact that they lived pretty far away. I like to think of my grandfather, John, as someone with a soft,soothing voice, like that of Morgan Freeman in Shawshank Redemption,and my grandmother, Rohna, well, she seemed to be a character all in herself. Rohna was full of secrets, so many secrets that my own father didn't even know her all that well. We never knew how old she was when she passed since she was always lying about her age, and my father always thought he was adopted because there was never any legal documentation of his birth. He always felt his parents were not his parents, but I've always felt like I look a bit like Rohna, but who knows? Life is filled with unanswered questions. From what I know, Rohna had a hearty laugh and a strong will, maybe similar to that of Sofia played by Oprah Winfrey in The Color Purple.Rohna immigrated to America all the way from Jamaica where her family owned a banana farm, she had lots of different jobs and personalities and lovers and stories. I wish I got to know her better. After all of these wonderful people passed, it were those fictional characters who carried me through another couple years.

I had to let go of these characters though, because they were not real. They could not hold me in their arms or tell me they loved me or teach me something new or protect me or take me someplace in the world. It was not real. I kept telling myself to wake up, to wake up from this dream I was living. I had to come to grips  with reality and realize that these people were never coming back, I could not replace them with someone else, I could not feel love for characters. The only thing I could do was ask questions. Those questions led to photographs and the photographs led to answers.There were pictures of my grandmother, Cynthia, sitting in the Las Vegas heat, smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of scotch. I could hear her raspy voice and the reassuring sound of her bangles swinging along side her tiny wrists. There were pictures of my grandfather, Steve, sitting on a blue couch wearing a striped button-down. He's smiling that same comforting smile, and I feel like I've known him all of my life. There were pictures of Rohna and John embracing one another on their wedding day, I could sense the happiness in their eyes, and hear the brightness in their voices. I can recall asking my father of how they met and why they fell in love. “Well, Rohna had just come to America in order to attend college, and John had just gotten out of the army, and they both ended up on the NYU campus in New York City.” My grandparents had known each other since college, it was one of the most romantic,fate-filled stories I had ever heard. All of the sudden, I started to make connections, I knew these people, I loved these people, and they were gone.

Some of us may not believe in feeling love for other  people. It could all be a waste. All that time spent mourning and wondering and feeling like something is missing. In the end, everyone dies, everyone leaves, so why do we spend all of our lives chasing a feeling? Why do we all want to feel real love? What do photographs have to do with love or family? Why does it matter? Feeling love for someone else is exactly what makes us human, and no matter who we are, at some point, we have all felt what is like to love. Sometimes we feel like some big part of our lives are lost, and we come to realize that we need love in order to be fulfilled. So we go chasing after it, looking for answers, losing sense of what love truly feels like. Photographs help us get that back. Photos are an extension of our memory, an extension of lives before ours and lives after, they give us our senses back, the smells, the sounds, the feelings. There are so many different things going on in each of our lives, our brains can't keep track of it all. Our memories of love for real people get mixed up with our more recent memories of love for movies or literature or a genre of music. Photos help us to distinguish the difference between love for people and love for things. Photos do not help us see love, but hep us feel love, the love we have forgotten.