Looking at photos from my childhood I find it harder and harder to connect the images I see to the moments they capture. Memories that I desperately want to recall have faded to such a point that I wonder if they were real or something I dreamed. I barely can recall my grandfathers’ voices. Thankfully with Papa I realized I could hear his voice when I listen to the old hymns he would sing to me. His best friend who I called Papa Wallace, my Godmother’s father, I remember through music as well. Of course there is no more appropriate way for me to remember Papa Wallace than his singing. O’pa is the hardest to hear. I don’t know if I have any recordings of him. If they do exist I haven’t found them yet. I don’t remember him singing often so I don’t have that tie. There are days where the grief I feel about forgetting them outweighs the grief I have towards their passing in the first place. I miss their laughter a lot. Papa was always laughing and I don’t recall him ever being stern. O’pa was the constant teacher. I remember watching him grade papers with a bright red pen. Papa Wallace was both teacher and musician. I learned a lot under his tutelage. I cling to what memories I have and cherish the photos of them. I don’t want to forget them. I feel like I learned too late the value and importance of documenting, recording, video taping and photographing special moments with special people. I say too late but I really mean I should have captured as much as I could of those 3 wonderful men. I did understand these lessons by the time O’ma passed. I have a single voice-mail from her, shortly before she passed, the I saved and archived. Her blog, journals, and sketches are also valuable beyond measure to me. Never take for granted what time you have with anyone. Learn the traditions, oral histories, everything you can while you can so that it can be passed to the next generation.