A Reflection on A Photography Pause

Photography has always been a passion of mine. It was a way to celebrate beauty, moments, and the simple joys of life. Through my lens, I loved capturing moments of connection, warmth, and artistry. It was a creative outlet that brought me happiness, purpose, and income.

However, everything changed twelve years ago when I lost my dad unexpectedly. On that day, I was preparing to call him, sensing that something was wrong, but chose to finish a client shoot first and let him rest. I did not know our call the night before would be the last time I would hear his voice. The premonition I felt and the grief that followed caused me to put my camera down. My passion for photography paused, overshadowed by the pain of losing him and the weight of unspoken words.

For years, I struggled to find my way back to my art. The memories and grief created a barrier that made it difficult to pick up my camera and see the beauty I once loved to capture. I could persevere for client commissioned work, but otherwise the camera sat on the closet shelf. It patiently waited for the next vacation which is the only time I used it for many years.

Losing my dad was like losing both my biggest supporter and strongest cheerleader. As a daughter, that loss cut deeply into my sense of stability and purpose. I felt a profound sadness, as if I had lost part of myself along with him. It was a silence that echoed in every corner of my life especially behind the camera.

Adding to these challenges, I faced a health hurdle when I experienced a retina detachment a few years later. The temporary loss of vision was a frightening and disorienting experience. It was another reminder of how fragile our sight and our lives can be. Coming through that experience and gradually regaining most of my vision felt like another step in my healing process. It was a gentle reminder that even in darkness, there is hope, and that recovery requires patience and resilience.

Recently, I realized how much I had been missing photography after returning from our vacation. Photography was not just a memory maker, but rather a healing process and a way to reconnect with life again. Today, I am slowly reconnecting with my passion outside of work. Each image I create is a tribute. It is an act of remembrance, healing, and anticipation. My photography is a way to honor my father’s memory and to find beauty again in the world around me. It is a journey of rediscovery that is transforming grief and challenges into art. Daily I remind myself that even in loss, moments of joy and connection continue to endure.

The last trip I took with my dad was to the Grand Teton National Park two months prior to his passing to photograph the fall colors..

Learning to see again after such a profound loss and physical challenge feels almost like learning to walk after an injury. It takes time, patience, and gentle effort. I need to give myself grace and celebrate each image that is captured. With each click, I am rebuilding my vision and my confidence. I hold onto the promise that through this process, I will find clarity and strength, and that my photography will continue to grow as a tribute to loved ones and my abundant life.

Thank you for being part of this ongoing journey with me. I wish these words resonate with you and if you know someone who is silently struggling please share this blog with them. We are not alone in this world.