Isn't it strange how much emotion can flow inside your mind when you look through family photos? Good, bad, or sad. But the memories are there.
My sister and I used to go through our family albums dozens of times as kids. We'd tell each other stories about how we remembered certain instances at the time the photos were taken. But those days are gone, at least for her.
About ten years ago, she got mixed in with the wrong crowd because of a guy she fell head over heels for. If love is blind, often doing things while in this "love" stage inhibited her from making clear decisions. Before we knew it, he had her smoking pot. A few months later, her behavior became so erratic she was no longer the sister we knew. She began seeing things. Little demons running through her house. People who weren't there. She destroyed her house, shattering pictures, windows, and once threw a broom so hard that it went through a closet door without splintering the broom handle.
She was finally put into a mental health hospital, and we found out that she had been using meth. The drug use had done so much damage, they kept her there for months. Doctor evaluations later diagnosed her with dementia. The drugs had eaten holes in her brain. And sadly, she'd never be the same.
Now, I look at family pictures differently. When I see us as kids, I try to remember the things we did, but I cannot escape the remorse that the sister I knew and loved is no longer here.