Before it’s too late…

 

It’s a new year (well, a few weeks into one in any case), and I’m making some changes.  2020 was HARD, no two ways about it.  But it was also transformative for me. I feel like I really discovered what my purpose is with my work last year, and why what I do is so very important.  All that clarity helped me come to the decision that this year I’m going to strive to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.  To take big risks, to put myself out there and be vulnerable, to talk about the hard things that I feel unsure of talking about.  But I know if I don’t start now, I’ll regret it later.  Life and death situations have a way of giving us that clarity, don’t they?

Like so many people this year, I lost someone unexpectedly.  A good friend who’s exuberant love of life was infectious.  And while I will miss him deeply, he was a friend I only saw a few times a year.  But I have so many friends that have lost a father, a mother, a partner.  People that were central to their lives, whose loss is forcing them to become an entirely new person.

One thing is universal though.  When we lose someone, we want to remember them.  And more often than not, we do that by looking at their photographs.

For me, I only had a few grainy selfies on my phone of my friend.  Oh, how I wish I had taken time just once to take a real portrait of him.  And when I imagine myself living through the losses my friends have had to endure, it makes me reach for my camera with an almost desperate need.

Because while capturing our families is important for the simple fact that our children keep changing so freakin’ fast, the truth is we have no way of knowing when our loved ones will be gone.  As this pandemic has taught us, someone who seems vibrant and full of life could, in spite of all precautions, catch a virus and be gone within days.  

And if that happens, think how valuable every photo of them becomes.  Imagine seeing their authentic smile on your wall every day as you make your coffee.  Imagine cuddling on your couch while slowly turning the pages of an album and having their personality shine through in every image.  Imagine losing your parent as a child, and having a photograph of them holding you close to remind you every day how much you were loved.

I don’t talk about this that often.  If I’m being honest, I struggle with how to talk about it. I mean, there’s no way around the fact that talking about death can feel incredibly morbid.  But I’ve realized what a disservice it is to just ignore a subject because it’s uncomfortable to talk about.  If we’re so afraid to talk about death, afraid to acknowledge that it’s a part of every single life, we’ll only get blindsided when death affects us.  And the opportunities to make the most of life while it’s here will be lost.

So here I am. Talking about the uncomfortable things now, while the ones we love are still with us.  Because once they’re gone, the opportunity to capture an image of their authentic selves will have passed along with them.  

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If you value photography in this way too, I’d love to talk about helping your family create the heirlooms you’ll cherish the rest of your lives.  Find out more about my unique and intimate approach to family photography & schedule a call here.

 

(p.s. – Everyone in this gorgeous family is FINE, so please don’t worry if you know them!  They were kind enough to allow me to use images from our session to illustrations of the kinds of images that will be absolutely priceless in this situation…)