Grieving is hard. It’s just over 30 days since I lost my dad. It’s not my first loss as dear family members and friends have passed away prior.
The loss of Dad hurts and aches in ways I never could have anticipated. Some days grieving feels like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest while on a rollercoaster ride. Other days it’s a quiet pain that burns just below the surface. There’s no roadmap for this journey — only a deep need to keep moving forward. There are moments when standing still feels like all I can manage. Breathing seems at times, difficult. Life though, moves forward.
Many of you have already experienced deep loss, if this blog relates, then neither us are alone on this path. We all need to find our own personal way to cope, to find a new normal. There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
Photography is my passion and my work. It’s how I’ve expressed myself for years — capturing moments, telling stories, finding beauty in nature, travels and wildlife. But now, photography is morphing a bit: a lifeline, a form of solace. It’s one of the few things that still feels right when so much else feels wrong.
In the midst of this grief, I find myself drawn to explore my creativity in new ways. I’m feeling a mental pull to evolve my style — to broaden it, to lighten it, to make it even more uniquely mine. I know that not everyone who follows my work will understand or embrace these changes, and that’s okay. This isn’t about approval or fitting into expectations. It’s about survival. It’s about healing.
I plan to continue with the work I’ve always loved — the style that built my body of work and connected me with so many people. But alongside that, I’m giving myself permission to create differently. To try new things. To let my grief reshape the way I see the world, and in turn, the way I photograph it. I do not know how that will look, only that I need to look at the world and potentially share that world differently.
Something new, refreshing, with a different kind of energy.
This new exploration doesn’t erase the loss. It doesn’t soften the sharp edges of missing my dad — the silence where his voice used to be, the ache of knowing that the house I once called home will soon belong to someone else. None of this creativity fills that void. But it does give me something to hold onto. A thread to follow through the darkness.
Grieving doesn’t have a finish line. It’s now a lifelong companion, one that will change with time but never completely disappear. Photography is part of my search for coping skills — part of how I’m learning to live with the loss, rather than be swallowed by it.
This is just the beginning of that journey. Thank you for being here with me.
