Two weekends ago, on Father’s day, I photographed an old friend’s family session - it was her, her husband, his parents, and her parents. This morning, I found out that her father had passed away last night suddenly.
This news hit me hard, harder than I had been hit before. I know there are people who have experienced the death of a close loved one firsthand, and knows what that feels like. I, however, have only experience death in somewhat of a distance. The people that I knew that died weren’t close to me, so I didn’t feel that part of me missing like others did.
The difference, I think, with this situation is that the person who has passed on - I saw them fairly recently. Their memory is still fresh in my head, our interactions still new. And now it’s gone, never to happen again.
During the session, he was quiet, but so much a father. He had his sense of humor and made us laugh. Made me laugh. When I took photographs of him and his wife, the look on her face was adorable - such teenage type love almost. She loved him, I knew it.
Towards the end of the session, we began walking off the beach. Only he stayed behind. I could hear his daughter saying “Dadddd!! Time to go!” But he didn’t turn, he didn’t look. He started going towards the water instead, drawn in by the ocean. He stood there for a good few minutes, seeming to take it all in. I kept looking back at his family walking away, laughing a bit because he was rebelling in his own way and not coming along. I snapped a few photos of him and remember thinking to myself that he’ll probably want to remember this sunset, this day. Being a photographer is precious that way. You immortalize moments that you don’t realize that are significant moments until you look back. The gift is being able to recognize these moments as they are happening so as to not take them forgranted in any way.
I’m glad I took these pictures. Because I’d like to think now, he’s a part of that ocean, that sunset, those clouds, that he so fondly looked at that day.
May he rest in peace.
