I moved all my photos to the cloud. I did this to free up storage on my phone. I have a 64 gig IPhone 6 Plus and it’s only got 10 gigs of free space left due to the over 5000 photos on it.
So I loaded my 5000 photos and videos to the cloud and was prepared to delete the ones on my phone, until I got to the photos of Anthony. I can’t bring myself to touch a single one of them. So my grand total was only reduced to 1573 rather than 0.
I know his photos are available. Lord knows I have Amazon Photo app here on my phone. I can see and download every one of them.
It’s not like I have to wait to see them.However, there is something very unnerving about the thought of parting with Anthony’s photos on my own phone.
I took Anthony’s photos from his phone and texted them to myself after he died. They’re so funny and charming. There is a security in knowing they are still here.
In my sole control and possession.
Well in my and Apple’s sole control and possession. Something happens to this phone and well, at least I have the cloud.
There is a supreme sense of comfort in knowing that his memories are HERE. In the palm of my hand. His memories can be shared with all of you. At any time.
That knowledge makes me smile.
You all know how proud I am of my sons. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought I would be writing about Anthony’s death. Regardless of all the trouble he gave me in life, he is still, my crowning achievement.
The person who made me change from Miranda to Mom.
I cried a thousand tears when he was alive. How many times I prayed he would straighten out his life! How many times I sat up wondering if he was alive because he didn’t answer my texts and then I threatened to kill him myself when he got home after being out all night! How many times I said to myself, why did God give me such a troublesome child!
I know now, God gave me this troublesome child because he knew I could love him. Beyond any trouble he gave me, I love Anthony with my entire soul. I have shed a million tears more now that he is gone.
He had the charisma that would charm the world. And he had his mother wrapped around his finger.
He knew it.
Every mother has a unique love for her children. So do fathers.
It’s individual, it’s singular. No matter what the books say, there is no right way to parent. There is no right way to love a child. No other mother or father could love this child the way I do.
Only I could love this child with such an intensity, that I feel physically sick every time I think of his death.
The thought of this funny face, with his blue eyes, in a coffin makes me want to vomit. The bile and acid well up inside of my lower abdomen. Contracting with such a force, my muscles pull together like two magnets. Lurching forward in response to this sharp contraction, tears flow easily.
Look at him. Isn’t he beautiful?
I created him.
His photos stay with me.
Where they belong.
Fuck the cloud.