The photographer snaps a 1957 moment in a dimly lit restaurant, freezing eighteen members of the Fleisher family. Nobody touching, yet, camera-obedient. They’re all dead except for me.

I’m older than everyone frozen in that room--the mosaic of love, loss, and memories that traveled through time but never fully unfolded.

The four-by-three-inch photograph of our June 27, 1973, wedding kept coming back to mind. It sits under a plastic mat in my office.