I didn’t know what to expect when I was handed the package of photos at the counter. The camera was so old I was unsure it would even develop. The entire drive home I kept the envelope in my lap, almost protective of what they held. I wasn’t sure why I did.

I opened the door to children running up and wrapping their arms around my legs. I ruffled their heads of thick brown hair and greeted them with hugs only that of a proud father could give. Because I was a proud father.

But I continued down the hall to my bedroom, it’s empty bed warm in the setting sun. I sat down on the comforter, flicking open the envelope and dumping out it’s contents on the white fabric. The glossy paper smelled like ink as hundreds of photos fell onto the bed. Shakily, I picked up the first one, it was a picture from the birth of our first child.

She was smiling, the small bundle of life and blankets nestled into her chest, sweaty hair tied back in a ponytail. Her wedding rings were hanging from a thin chain around her neck, leaving her fingers to be gripped by the wandering hands of our baby daughter. I dropped the photo, and found a second one.

Our first date. Tickets to a movie theater in our hands while we clung to each other in her parents home. They had begged us to let them take a picture, and left us with the camera. She wasn’t looking at the camera, I noticed, her green eyes, greyed through the filter of time, staring at me while I looked dead ahead. She was smiling all the same, wrinkles already forming around her mouth.

The third photo was more recent, our youngest daughter’s pre-school graduation, her cheap blue robe and cap covering her yellow dress and mop of brown hair. She was smiling, cheesily grinning for the camera. Behind her, she was also smiling, hand around my waist, the glint of her rings shining in the sun. This was four weeks before she had died.

I picked up another photo, one that brought tears to my eyes. Her first surgery, all those years ago. She was smiling, holding the camera up to capture a photo of us kissing, her in her blue hospital gown and hair net and me in a green college sweater. She had half-heartedly begged me not to wear it, I did it to make her laugh. I let the picture fall from my hand, letting my eyes fall to a new one on the bed. Our wedding day. Her white dress spread out behind us as we pressed our foreheads together, eyes drawn to each other’s.

Another one, we were at a karaoke night at a bar for our friends birthday. She was up at the microphone, belting out the lyrics to ‘Killer Queen’ by Queen. She was smiling, her face split by her happiness. I had taken the photo, laughing at her glee.

A photo of us at breakfast, wet by my tears. Our faces both sticky with maple syrup and pancakes. We were laughing so hard I had thought our breakfast would come back up. This was the morning I had proposed.

I looked to the dresser across from me. I was on one knee, her hands in mine. She was smiling, a hint of her laughter dancing across her features. I had told her that I loved her, and just how much I wanted to spend forever with her.

If only I was able to fulfill that want for us.

A knocking at the door shook me from fantasy. The voice of my oldest asking me if I was okay. I opened the door, bringing her to the bed, setting her on my lap. I put the first photo in her hand. “This is when you were born. I think you were only an hour old when this was taken.” She stared at the photo, tracing her mother’s smile.

“And here,” I showed her the picture of our first date, “this was me and Mom’s very first date. We went to go see a movie.”

“What movie?” She whispered.

I paused, momentarily reminiscing on the memory, “Iron Man. Of all movies, we went to go see Iron Man.” I laughed.

She picked up a new photo, one I hadn’t seen yet, we were dancing on a beach. “What’s this one from?”

I thought for a second, “I think that’s from the first night of our honeymoon. We wanted to get a photo of the sunset and this lovely picture couple offered to take our picture.” The whining of the youngest drew the attention and the child from my arms, running out to care for her. I stared at the photo. Both of our faces shadowed by the sun. But I didn’t need a photo to remember just how she looked at me, like if I was the sun, and she was the sky, and together we would light up the world. And we did. We had light up our world, with memories and people. Her light may have gone out, but her memories kept the lanterns of her life afloat in the sky. I missed her. I missed her more than the sky misses the Earth. More than Life misses Death. I missed her smile. Her laughter. Her quiet mornings and wild evenings. Her desire for the fun and then free. I missed the way she saw the beauty in everything. I missed the way she loved. The way she loved the people she never even met and close friends all the same. The way she loved her family. The way she loved her children. The way she loved me.