Grief Initiation

***TRIGGER WARNING***

This story is about infant death and contains some photos from my experience with this topic.

Grief has been quite present for me in my life, especially this year.

People have been asking me why I talk about grief and wondering what my relationship is to this often taboo topic.

I am deeply connected to grief because of my personal & intimate relationship to it. And because it is taboo in our society, it feels even more important to bring it to light, because it’s an important and natural part of being a human.

The person I am now has been deeply influenced and shaped by the different types of grief I’ve experienced over my life, but it’s been very concentrated over the last 8 years.

My big initiation into the world of grief came through one of my best friends, Michelle, 8 years ago, as my family was preparing to move from Denver to Portland.

Michelle and I have been friends since before we were married, had kids, and grew into adulthood. As we’ve grown up, I’ve had the privilege of documenting her and her growing family through the years with engagement, wedding, maternity, and baby photoshoots.

When I was pregnant with my first child, she was pregnant with her second child at the same time. We went through our pregnancies together, and gave birth to our sons two weeks apart.

She helped me navigate the terrifying and foreign terrain of being a new mom. It was so special to have sons the same age and to go through this big life stage at the same time.

One summer day, I got a call from Michelle. Through her tears, she said “Alex died. Can you come to the hospital right now with your camera so we can take our last family photos together?”

I dropped everything and got to the hospital as fast as I could. My head was spinning, not able to fully comprehend what was happening as I ran down the long hallways in the hospital with my camera.

I found her family in a completely white, sterile room, crying and huddling around baby Alex. I was in complete shock but went into autopilot as I started shooting pictures and documenting the moment.

Through my tears, I stopped to touch his head. It was cold. There was no warmth left in his small body, yet he looked like he was sleeping. A sweet, sleeping angel.

I remember Michelle sobbing as she held his small body, asking Alex to come back because they still had so many adventures to go on together.

That day, my heart shattered into a million pieces. It has never been the same.

Life has never been the same for me since.

I understood the immense privilege it was to be a part of that moment in time with my dear friend, and simultaneously it destroyed me.

Not long after, my family moved to Portland. I shoved my camera into a closet, hiding it from myself, not wanting to touch it or use it.

For years, I lived in fear of the same thing happening to my son. I lived with both gratitude and guilt that my son lived, knowing that while I was celebrating milestones for him, Michelle was grieving the ones they would never get to have together.

My camera sat in my closet, collecting dust for 3 years. I had no desire to use it for anything, not even to document my own precious son.

I felt that if my degree in photojournalism and my photography experience were all to prepare me for that moment, it was all worth it. I was ok with my love for photography dying with Alex.

But eventually, photography called me back.

It was a very slow and gradual reintroduction, coupled with fear, sadness and heartbreak.

It wasn’t until I had cancer last year that I really went all in with my photography business for the first time ever.

It was the first time I believed in myself enough to invest in myself. The grief I faced at the idea of not living long enough to raise my son was the wakeup call I needed.

Photography has been my guiding light for more than half of my life, which brings me to this moment in time.

Life has given me so many opportunities to be intimate with grief. To be with it in different ways - through my own experiences of losing people I love. Through witnessing another friend and his family lose their son, just last year.

Through death, divorce, suicide, ending of significant relationships, moving, leaving the stability of my corporate job and more.

I used to wonder why I was experiencing so much heartbreak - and why I was witnessing people in my life experiencing their own deep heartbreak.

I understand now.

Everything I have experienced has prepared me for this path I walk now. To help others navigate their own grief. To hold others in their heartbreak. To bring comfort to those that feel like they cannot possibly take another step.

My grief has been one of the biggest gifts of my life.

It has been one of my biggest teachers.

I have learned that grief is not the opposite of love; it IS love - just in a different form.

I am filled with gratitude for this journey, and for the wisdom and empathy I have gained every step of the way.

This is why I am called to explore grief. This is why I am passionate about holding space for others as they sit with their grief.

We are not meant to do it alone - we are meant to hold each other through it. We all have seasons of being able to give and needing to receive. This is what it means to be in community.

Understanding my own grief has been the curriculum I need to understand the grief of others. This is why I commune with it. This is why I honor it.

Our collective stories matter. Your grief matters. Your story matters.

It’s time to share it with the world, so that it may be transmuted into something beautiful.