I got up at sunrise today to take pictures of Meg’s memorial. I didn’t know Meg. I’m not sure why her story has affected me so deeply…maybe because I’m also a mom of young children, maybe because I’m also a runner. But I’ve been unable to get her story…her family…her babies…out of my mind.
So, I stood there this morning, with a lump in my throat, snapping pictures of one of the most powerful images I’ve ever photographed. As I did, a man stopped his car and got out and stood with me. He asked me if I knew her. I said no. We stood in silence together. After a minute, I asked him if he knew her…..he said, “Yes. She was my wife.”
I’m not sure what I said to him after that, I stood there crying, fumbling over my words, unable to find the right things to say. He was very kind. He told me what he was doing that morning and that he just stopped to thank me.
On the way home, I thought about all the things I’d wished I’d said to him. I wish I could have impressed upon him how utterly sorry I am for his loss, how I feel physically ill when I think about those children having to grow up without their mom, how angry I am about the unfairness of it all. I wish I could have spoken encouraging or uplifting words to him. But I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t need to.
Maybe all I really needed to say was thank you, Mr. Menzies. Thank you for stopping to speak to me. Thank you for letting all of us in. Thank you for sharing your wife with us, her life and her legacy. Meg has touched so many, inspired so many, and reminded every one of us of the preciousness of life. One of the things you said this morning was that you wish she was here to see all of this. When I look at this photograph, I get the feeling that, in a way, she was
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