Why I do this
Photos are all I have left of my dad.
My dad died when I was 20. My sister was 17 and my brother was 22. My mom lost her best friend. It more than hurt. It ached, and then came a hundred other feelings I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
We survived. You always do. The pain faded, and now we look back and smile. My childhood was full of laughter, travel and endless humor, and he was one of the most amazing people I’ll ever know. I’m not sure anyone will surpass him. I’m not sure I want them to.
It’s been more than two decades since I’ve heard his laugh or felt one of his hugs. As time goes on, you forget the physical things: exactly how a voice sounded or how a hand felt. That might be the hardest part. Knowing I’ve forgotten.
Photos bring him back, even for a second. I see one and I can feel his hand on my shoulder and hear him laugh. What gets me is knowing there won’t be any new ones. This is all there is.
Where it all began
This photo is why I love photography. I first saw it on my brother’s nightstand shortly after Dad died, and I’d never felt so much from a single picture. It’s one moment, but it’s real: my dad, in one of his favorite places, with his son. I’ve been chasing moments like it ever since.
For your family
Savor the little moments. Say what you feel, and do something about it. Take a million photos, then print them. Laugh hard. Someday you’ll look back and wish you had more.
Thank you for letting me into your lives. I hope I can give you even half of what I feel when I look at this photo.