I just spent the bulk of a rainy weekend scanning a load of personal photographs—several boxes-full, stuffed to bursting with the life-in-photos of an utter shutterbug. I actually have stiff muscles—not from heavy lifting, obviously, but from repetitive motions and sitting in the same position for hours on end.

I bought the scanner several years ago, and although we’ve had a number of uses for it, this was the purpose for which I ordered it. I wanted all these pictures digitized and (while I’m at it) labeled and organized. They’ve been stuffed higglety-pigglety into these boxes, they’ve been rifled through dozens of times in search for one photo or another, and I hadn’t even dated the backs, despite the good example set by my mother and grandmother always doing so. So (now that I’ve finally gotten around to it) I had not only the physical chore of scanning them all, but the mental task of placing each one in its proper context of timeline, using clues in the photo. (Thank goodness for changing hairstyles!)

As I scanned photos ranging from my own childhood to the childhood of my kids, it was sort of a weekend-long version of seeing my life “flash before my eyes.” (Not so much a flash as a slow burn—but in any case, an overview.)

One aspect of the photo-journey is bittersweet. Although I’ve been overwhelmingly Blessed in my life, still those years’-worth of photos, of my small and affectionate children, highlight my biggest heartache. Namely, the absence of my kids from my life now, and for the past decade. (I’m Sober now, and medicated for Bipolar—but I put them through a lot of chaos, and endangered them repeatedly, and they opt not to speak with me.)

And now I’m trying to decide if I have it in me to write about this subject, today. It’s the life-sized heartache beneath everything. Heartbreak like a great white shark cruising below the frolicking penguins of everyday thoughts. Those penguins go on about their business with no reference to the monster, but periodically he surges upward and devastates them. Well, he’s near the surface, after going through all those photos, so there’s no use pretending he’s not there.

I at least have the consolation of knowing my children are in the world, and well.Not undamaged, but well. For their early years they had my undivided care and attention, and I was good at that early parenting. My drinking hadn’t gone off the rails and my Bipolar hadn’t shown up and I was a full-time, stay-home mom, shaping and teaching—and enjoying the hell out of watching them become people.

I cling gratefully to the time I did have with them. I may not ever get more, so I’m grateful beyond words that no one can take away the memories I do have. When I write about them here, I’m not trying to “pull a fast one” and pretend things are hunky-dory between us now. I just work really hard at celebrating what time I did get with them, rather than mourning or raging over what I can’t control.

I know I said it’s bittersweet… I try to come down on the side of the sweet, in memory, rather than the bitter. And that’s all I have the heart to write, today. Christian & Elena Grace, my prayers are always with you.