As we finish unpacking in our new home, one of the last decision to be made is where to put our framed photographs.  We have limited space for pictures of us, vacations, our weddings, our parents, children, and now grandchildren.  Carefully we pick and chose which to display.  Those not chosen get packed in a box that is taped up and sent to the oblivion of the attic.

In my last apartment I had a long hallway from the living room to bedrooms.  I found old photographs of many of my ancestors, my grandparents wedding photos, my great grandparents, my father's family when he was a young boy, my father as a baby, and even one of my great great grandfather and his two sons.  We jokingly called it the "death wall."  You had to be dead to get your photo there.

Our new home has no room for  a death wall.  I picked two photos of each of my grandparents and am trying to squeeze them in somewhere.  The rest there is no place for.

I realize, as I pack up the old photos that someday that is probably what I will be.  Someone a few generations from now will find a picture of Eve and me from our wedding and wonder who those people are.  And we will be sent up to the attic.  I guess sooner or later we all end up there.