I have this framed, black & white wallet-sized photograph in my bedroom. The photo is of a couple and their baby, and I found it (unframed) in a bin alongside hundreds of other photos a month or two ago at a flea market. I paid a dollar for it. It was taken in or around the 1950's and it shows a couple, presumably in their mid-30's, smiling down at their baby who is lying on their lap. The woman in the picture is white, and the man is Japanese...and they look so heartbreakingly happy. Even the baby, who couldn't be over 10 months old, is staring up at his parents with the most wonderful smile on his face...you can almost hear him laughing.
This photograph makes me happy when I look at it...it did from the minute I saw it, and I knew I'd pay whatever the guy selling it was asking. Honestly though, it's a strained happy, if that makes any sense. I don't know if that's because of my need to know where this family is now...are they still together and happy...how did their story end? Or if I'm projecting my feelings of insecurity onto this lovely, unassuming family.
The thing is, they way the couple is looking down at their baby, the emotion they're conveying towards each other without even looking at each other, I want that. They look so proud, so content...it isn't even the baby that I want, it's that connection that they have. If I could be promised that I'll have that someday, then I think I could put it out of my mind for now...but I guess that's life; that whole painful "not knowing".