Do You Keep Up With Your Old Loves?

Imagine my surprise, and perhaps dismay, when I opened the newspaper to find a review for The Mothers I Might Have Had by Caroline Furneaux. This new book is written by a daughter who came across her father’s photos of past romances. I was startled to think that someone had focused on a topic long brewing in the back of my mind — what to do with my photos of old boyfriends, still stored in various shoeboxes and scrapbooks.

I realized that because the author’s father was deceased, he wouldn’t have to explain why he still had these pics, leaving his daughter to ponder the possibilities, good and bad, of what could have been. Are my photos of old beaus to be saved or discarded? Can, or should, we be thinking about past romances, especially when happily married now to someone who’s not in the collection?

I know what has stopped me in the past. What would my children say if they saw I still had these photos in my possession? Moments from college, camps, travels and more. Would they think I was popular? Hip? Cool? Maybe even attractive? Wishful thinking, but what if they wondered if I had been too flirty? Still, they’re from a time before wrinkles and worries, and I must admit I get a kick out of reviewing the way I looked a lifetime ago.

In anticipation of an upcoming move, it may be a timely question to decide what to do with those photo albums I’ve kept for decades. Should they keep moving with me from place to place as they did when I’ve gone from an apartment to a house, then back again to an apartment after downsizing?

Would my family really be pleased to know old boyfriends still linger in physical images and mental memories? Too late to do a book — it’s already been done.

One friend recently asked why I didn’t just throw these things away. It’s simple: when I come across a photo, it triggers memories that would otherwise certainly be unretrievable. It’s like the feeling that arises when you hear a song from your younger days. Where was I that day? Was I happy? Did we see a future, or was it a fling?

I can relate to a popular song by Adele in which she sings, “Let me photograph you in this light in case it is the last time that we might be exactly like we were.” There’s no question that old photos keep us frozen in time.

In one photo that remains in a paper frame, my date and I are posed before a fancy event — a prom, or was it a military ball? Are those Grecian curls atop my head? While I would give anything to fit into that dress if it still existed, I must ask myself why I still have this memento. If I really think about it, this person broke up with me soon after the event, causing days of distress. That should make it an easy toss; no need to recall that hairstyle or the tears that followed.