I love them.
They are so beautiful.
And it was a wonderful day in my life.
One of the best days of my life.
I have also taken quite a few down.
And I have started replacing some of the candid shots of us I had all over the house with new photos of friends and family.
The memory boards in the kitchen actually have no pictures of Roger.
The kitchen is a Roger-free zone.
Which I think is a good thing.
I do have two wedding pictures in the niche right before my bedroom.
One is of Roger and I dancing during one of the few slow dances we played.
Maybe even the last, I cannot remember sadly.
The other is me in my dress at the altar after the ceremony.
I love this picture especially since our wedding was during lent.
There was a huge veil over the resurrection scene on the wall.
And the way I was standing in front of it, that veil looks like it continues down my back and blends with my actual veil.
I do not exactly see these pictures.
Yes they are there.
But I do not look at them.
I look mostly through them.
Or not in that direction just knowing they exist.
But when I do, I have noticed something.
I do not feel like it is me in the pictures.
I feel so detached from them.
I feel like I am looking at someone else's beautiful wedding.
It almost feels like the whole thing was a dream.
Like I was never married.
Which makes me sad.
Perhaps it is some sort of coping mechanism?
Perhaps by removing myself it hurts less?