Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Earl brings me coffee in bed every morning, because I hold the world’s record for taking the longest time to wake up. It doesn’t matter what time I went to bed the night before or what time it is in the morning, I hate waking up. When I accomplish putting my feet on the floor, then I consider the hardest thing on my daily to-do list can be checked off.

That said, this morning at 6:15 a.m., as my hand reached for the pungent coffee in my favorite mug, I looked around our bedroom. I often look around our bedroom, but today I found myself focusing on six photographs that hug the eastern wall. They are all of children.

No, I don’t have six children. Rather these photographs span three generations, the first of them – my Uncle Jimmy – was taken in the early 1920s. The last of them — my younger son Keith — was taken around 1974. So they span approximately fifty years.

I look at them and remember. I smile.

I deliberately made a collage of children’s photos to represent these three generations, because these photos were taken long before the subjects experienced the trials and tribulations of adult life. Long before worry and wrinkles set in.

There’s my Uncle Jimmy, who died unexpectedly in 1965. There’s my Aunt Alice, with whom I feel a closeness that I imagine sisterhood encompasses. Then there’s a group photo of Jimmy and Alice and my mother, Pat, who was the eldest sibling of the three. They are sitting closely together and pouring over a book, oblivious to the camera. It’s a wonderful shot. Next is a photo of me, taken around kindergarten age. And finally, there are photos of my two sons taken long before either was eager to attend school but long after my uncle died. They never knew him.

I looked at these photos and memories flooded my psyche. I’m so glad I chose to display my family this way on a wall that greets me every morning when I’m trying to wake up. It makes the process easier.