Loss, Grief, Memory, and Why Photos Matter So Much
There’s something about grief that makes time feel strange. It stretches and warps and folds in on itself. One minute you’re just doing the dishes, the next you’re crying into a tea towel because a certain song came on.
As a photographer, I’ve witnessed how loss changes people. I’ve also seen how photographs—simple, quiet images—can mean everything when words aren’t enough.
I photograph all kinds of moments: weddings, newborns, messy family sessions with snack crumbs in every corner. But I also get asked to photograph moments that are tender, fleeting, and full of ache. Sometimes it's a session after a diagnosis. Sometimes it’s one last session with a grandparent, a partner, or even a pet. And every time, I’m reminded just how powerful photography can be.
Because here’s the thing:
Grief is the price we pay for love. And photos? They’re one way we hold onto that love when someone’s gone.
Photographs Don’t Fix the Hurt, But They Hold It
Photos don’t fix grief. I wish they did. But they do give us something to hold onto when everything else feels like it's slipping away. They offer proof—this person was here, they were loved, they mattered. And when the memories get blurry or time feels cruel, you can look back and see a crooked smile, the way someone’s hand rested on a shoulder, or how the light fell just right during a quiet, shared moment.
Sometimes the photos feel too raw at first. That’s okay. Grief has its own pace. But later—days, months, or even years down the road—those images become treasure.
“I’ve had people reach out years later to say, 'I didn’t know how much I’d need these until now.' I believe in preserving love, even when it hurts.”
moments you'll want to hold on to...
I never expected grief to shape my work as much as it has. But here I am—living it, holding it, and photographing it.
6 years ago today, I lost my dad.
He was sick but it was still sudden. It changed the shape of my world.
Then, not long after, my marriage ended.
Another kind of grief. A slow, painful unraveling of a life I thought I’d be living forever.
And in the middle of all of that—I kept taking photos.
For you.
For your families, your weddings, your babies, your milestones. I showed up with my camera and my whole heart, even when my heart was broken.
And through all of it... loss, grief, heartbreak,... I’ve realized somethin;
Photography has become my lifeline.
In the quietest, most personal way, it has held me together.
Grief cracks you open.
It makes you feel like a stranger in your own life. There’s a "before" version of you that you can never quite get back to, and an "after" that you have no choice but to learn how to live inside of.
Some mornings, it’s hard to get out of bed. Other days, I’m elbow-deep in editing a wedding gallery, tears suddenly spilling onto my keyboard because of how a father held the hand of a bride on her wedding day.
Grief finds you in the oddest moments.
It’s not always loud. Sometimes it’s a whisper. A flicker of memory. A photograph you didn’t expect to hit so hard.
I’m not sharing any of this to be inspirational. I’m not writing it for sympathy. I’m writing it because it’s true. My world fell apart TWICE in a short period of time, and I found myself clinging to what I could carry: memories, moments, and yes… photographs.
That’s what I know now, deep in my bones:
Photos aren’t just pretty pictures. They are evidence. They are memory. They are connection. They are love made visible.
When everything else feels uncertain or broken, sometimes a photo is the one thing that stays.
“Photography won’t fix grief. But it can hold space for it. It can give you something to come back to, again and again, when the ache feels fresh and the memories feel far away.
It can remind you that there was love, and connection, and beauty—even in the hardest seasons.”
Don’t Wait for “The Right Time”
If there’s one thing grief has taught me, it’s this:
We never regret having too many photos—only the ones we didn’t take.
So if you’ve been thinking about booking a session with someone you love—your parents, your kids, your partner, your chosen family—don’t wait for the perfect season or matching outfits or life to slow down.
Just do it.
Capture the way they are right now! The hand squeezes, the mess, the quiet moments that seem small now but won’t feel small later, because one day, these photos will mean more than you can imagine.
They always do.
If that’s been on your heart, I’d love to help you make it happen.
Let’s hold onto what matters—while we still can.
