Last weekend I was sorting through some old family photo albums in the loft. Some of the photos date back to 1922 and contain the usual sepia toned family photos of past Aspden generations you would expect.
I love everything about these photo albums, mainly the fact they are tangible and were lovingly assembled by my ancestors.
After I had finished in the loft and precariously navigated the loft ladders, something chilled me to core. It was the stark realisation that when I go, there will be nothing tangible left for my child to physically flick through.
Every photo I have from 1996 onwards is stored in a digital format. I have floppy disks, random hard drives, memory cards, phones and Facebook stuffed with memories, none of which exist in a tangible sense. And although I have this digital catalogue of family photos for future generations to browse through and laugh at, it has occurred to me that there is something physical and very emotive missing in the experience of browsing these photos on screen.
I have realised that the thing I treasure the most about my old family photo albums is knowing that my mum, dad, grandma or granddad, sadly many of whom are no longer here, actually placed that photo and lovingly wrote an entry on the back. Knowing this gives me a real warmth that I think will sadly not be there for my child once I have been tipped off the boat.
