My dad passed away two and a half years ago after living with cancer as long as he could. Having time to know it’s coming doesn’t make the change feel any less sudden. There’s no way to prepare for something so foreign to your understanding of the universe.
My mom was suddenly faced with a whole world of “stuff” without context, and had to find a way to walk through it all. I have no idea how many challenges she faced alone, or how many hours the echoing silence of that empty house almost broke her.
She called crying more than once, not for pity but to share her agony with somebody who would say “That sounds awful.” She would get it out of her system, dust off her tiny white sweater, and keep moving forward. One computer or plumbing problem at a time.
I was in Chicago this week to visit my grandfather before that window closed, and spent a few days farting around town with mom. She humored my exuberance for photos and was happy to detour to Elder Lane Beach after dinner when the light was “EFFING BUTTERY.” We bounced around the beach and chatted about how it was a shared venue for our high school adventures, thrilled to see the next batch of kids stumbling down there at dusk for fun and mischief.
We hit a neighborhood beach each of the three days I was in town. Food for my dry ass TX soul. She was happy to walk around in her own thoughts while I took 37 out-of-focus pictures of seagulls.
When I got home I reviewed the pictures, praying for at least one or two “bangers” among the 300+ shutter clicks. Looking back through them, I see all the missed chances, the almost-there compositions, and 10 or 12 things to get less shitty at.
Sometimes a photo tells so much more than you knew when you took it. Once you sit with it, it unfolds in your heart.
I spent a few rounds editing this picture before I really saw what was there. A lone woman in her mid-70s looking out over the horizon, wondering and hoping. A small lady standing tall on her hopes for what is to come, still screaming to hold onto what has been lost.
Sitting in the dark at 1am, I stopped looking at technique and felt what the picture was saying.
I cried a little in my house full of my own family.