We told the story together

Tear filled fear at the start
and then the excitement of buying a high end stroller
we pushed around the mall filling with doll clothes and music boxes in preparation
for our still imaginary fare.
I caught you round bellied surveying construction of the crib in our living room.
Your expression frozen in the half light of evening.
A picture that looked new to new eyes,
but is now grainy and aged in pixel yellowing
not quite as real or sturdy or timeless as the snapshots taped and corner caught
behind brittle plastic sheets in an embellished book on a grandmother’s end table.
Mine is filed and timestamped.
Nested in a hierarchy of abstracted folders.
Lost in grayscale at the mercy of wifi and passwords.
A lifetime of hopes and expectations ether wrapped
floating in a void of keywords and tax filings.
We closed the shared accounts and replaced passwords.
The keys are lost and the secret phrases of our new family and baby talk code
no one will ever know, and we will forget without an app.
Our grandchildren will never hold the scrapbook paper of our existence.
They will never see the scissor cut shaping of our story, or the hole punched confetti and crepe paper joys of our love.
We told the story together and made it real with the sound of each other’s voices,
but the codec has lost support and the silence will follow.