Let me preface this with a little story:
My life has been pretty shitty these past few years, having to take care of my mother as depression, and alcoholism consumed her to the point where she could no longer take care of herself. She passed away last year, on the 4th of December, and my sister and I have taken it upon ourselves to try and organize the Celebration of my mother's life, so that my father doesn't need to stress over it as much as he had been.
This means we have been hunting through old photo albums, trays and boxes full of photos still in their envelopes, for her; Our mother. The mother my sister remembered from before, and the woman I wish I could remember through my fractured memory. Remembering that she was, at one point, an actual mother. That she loved us, cared for us, got outside and had fun with us. That she was more than the frail, abusive, manipulative, twisted wreck that had burned itself into our memories.
I've found more than just pictures. I have found emotions I had forgotten in my own battle with depression. I did love her. I miss her. This house feels empty even though she wasn't really a part of it for the past 3 years.
So, suffice it to say, this picture breaks me: