Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I took a long walk with a friend this morning, then my husband and I ordered from Instacart and set to work after labeling our photo albums as to year and trips. My husband got engrossed in the photos, but for me it was disturbing. There were many beautiful photos of my daughter, and I could not reconcile them with the fact of her death. I explained to my husband I was disturbed, and after we had lunch we swiftly finished up. I don't know if my kids or grandkids will even want these photos, as they are not convenient and not easily transferable to their phones and laptops. In some I hardly recognize myself, but I saw enough to know I will never, ever have a short haircut again. The horror! Even seeing how black my hair was seems strange now. And there are many photos we couldn't identify. I know I know them, but who ARE they? The ebb and flow of friendships is obvious when you look at the albums: someone who was your best friend disappears, and events that seemed so important no longer matter to you. But my kids' photos are still fun and so sweet. Will they all be thrown away after I'm gone? I have no idea. Ancient history, as they say. There is one historian in the family. Maybe he will keep them. But I'm no longer attached. I'm just the parent and grandparent. And they will do what they do.