The Picture I Can't Seem To Change

 I haven’t changed my Facebook profile picture since November 13th, 2022.

It’s not because I forgot.
It’s not because I haven’t taken another photo since then.
It’s because that picture holds something sacred.

It was the last day I saw my son.
The last time his smile was still within reach.
The last memory before life shattered into before and after.

People might scroll past it without a thought.
But to me, that picture is a time capsule.....
A fragile moment sealed in grace and pain.
It’s not just a photo; it’s a heartstring.
To what was.
To who he was.
To the way he loved, laughed, struggled, and lived.

My heart is still connected to him.
And every time I see our hands touching in that photo, I am reminded of how close we were....how deeply we loved, how much we shared....sometimes even just in silence.

Changing it feels like erasing something too precious, too final.

Grief doesn’t follow a calendar.
It doesn’t expire after a year.
And healing doesn’t mean forgetting.
Sometimes, healing means allowing yourself to remember—
Even if the remembering hurts.

I’ve learned that you don’t have to rush through sorrow to prove you’re okay.
You don’t have to swap out sacred things just to meet someone else’s timeline.
And you don’t owe the world a new picture when your heart still needs to hold on to the old one.

So no, I haven’t changed my profile picture.
And maybe I won’t for a while.
Or ever.

Because for now, it still speaks for me.....
Of love that doesn’t end.
Of loss that still lingers.
And of a son whose face I’ll never stop seeing… not just in a photo, but in everything I do.

“The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” - Psalm 34:18 

Fear ye not, neither be afraid: have not I told thee from that time, and have declared it? ye are even my witnesses. Is there a God beside me? yea, there is no God; I know not any.   - Isaiah 44:8

Levi's hand is on this scripture.  He was in room 448.  I held this scripture close to my heart from the day he went in to the CU and I still hold it close today.  I read it over him daily while he laid unresponsive.