I'll just put the camera on a timer, I said. My mother dismissed my words and pretended she didn't hear. The kids were running around with the dogs, the dishes were piled high in the sink, and salsa music was playing in the living room. These sights and sounds could mean just one thing: family dinner.

My parents planned a belated birthday celebration for my twin sister and I last Sunday, complete with endless servings of rice and beans. The simplicity of the meal couldn't disguise the layers of memories and symbolism each plate represented. Decades of struggle led my family to the table to celebrate togetherness…and contentment.

I brought my camera to the dinner and I asked to take a family photo. JUST ONE, I promised to anyone who'd pay attention. My mother complained she wasn't wearing makeup, my little sister insisted on wearing a blanket (for reasons still unknown), and the dogs ran amuck in the yard.

But I convinced the family to agree by saying, “The worst photo is better than no photo at all.”

With that, I set the camera on the hood of a car, set the timer, and ran into the frame.

The photo is flawed and imperfect. And yet, I love it. It is a memory of health, promise, and hope that life can remain beautiful. Forever.