Yesterday I turned 21. It was a good day. It was a bittersweet evening.

I cried myself to sleep last night thinking of how the photo of us looked, how he looked, specifically. How you can see some things in a photo that sometimes you miss when you see someone every day: How you can see when someone is giving up, or when someone is growing old, dying.

I remember looking back at photos of Grandma Mae and knowing which photos were taken right before she died. You could see it in her hallowed cheeks. In her eyes. There's that look I can't describe, but can pinpoint when I see it. I didn't see it then when I saw her. Only years later, when I observed the photos.

I saw the same look yesterday on the digital camera screen. The same surrendering expression.

I hope my father is around for photos when I turn 22.