Grief is proof that love exists.

I read this somewhere recently and it stopped me. First, let me share the my brain experiences and remembers certain events in color. I’m sure there’s a fancy name for this but I don’t have the inclination to look it up. Message me if you know what it is. But only if you have a link, because again, the inclination is lacking. So like, I have some childhood memories tinged in yellow, (like aged photos?), my college memories are interlaced with blue, you get it. There are REASONS for the colors (always reasons) but I’ll save those details for me and my therapist.

Anyway, when my mom suddenly died in 2019, all I could see was black. My mom lived just a couple miles away and we ran a business together, so she was quite entwined in my life. When she died my entire existence went black. This is very fitting and may I say, very classically on trend? Death=black, obvi! Well done, brain! For about a year, I moved through the world with a gentle black filter radiating from the center of my brain all the way out as far as I could see. In my memory it’s a deep, velvety black. The deepest and darkest pain I had yet to experience, but cozy like a warm, starless night. It embraced me and insulated my broken heart.

This is not the interesting part! What fascinated me was my body’s incredible ability to survive when all my heart wanted to do was die. It was like my brain had put all of my emotions on pause. Like it had erased everything that mattered, and mostly didn’t matter, and left me with a clean slate. A clean, black slate.

And all I felt was love.

My soul was a bottomless well and the first layer was deep, black grief. But the layer on top? It was brilliant, sparkly love. The blackness underneath made the love on top kind of pop, ya know? Like when you paint your nails with glitter, you can see it best with a dark color underneath. (I’m a sparkle lover, in case you haven’t picked up on it.)

I wonder now, would the love have been so profound without the grief underneath?

Please believe me, this was a heartbreakingly beautiful year. My sorrow was matched by my joy in every little thing. I remember feeling absolutely crushed by the adorableness of a stranger smiling to themself at Target. How cute is it to find oneself enjoying your own thoughts? I wanted to hug and squeeze the person! It was like I was on high alert to see the tiny precious moments that make our existence delightful. I think this is what people feel after a near-death experience. Except instead of my own near-death experience, I experienced my mother having an actual-death experience. And as those things do, it changed me forever.

My mother was far too young to die. I was too far from my center to lose her.

That bottomless well of black grief underneath all the sparkly love, I now know, was the love I have for my mama. My brain gathered it all all up and wove it into a soft, tightly knit, dark as night blanket and wrapped it around and around and around my heart. It said, “I got you. I’m holding us together for the time being. Now look! See how the love shines against the black? Focus on the love and it will get you through.”

For the next year or so, I listened. Observed. Loved.

At some point I told my friend, Sara, how I was feeling. She was lovely, supportive and validating. Sparkly. She said, “Now you just need to hang on to it. Hang on to that love.”

Was I successful? Did I hang on to it? I’m happy to report that yes, I did. Not always!, but I did grasp at every glittery moment I could. I began to weave those moments into my experience so that the dark grief that blanketed my soul was soon filled with sparkle in every color. Like looking at the midnight sky dappled with stars of joy, humor, and awe. The blackness became multi-color again.

I can still see (feel?) some of the darkness though, and I like that. It’s smooth and infinite. Welcoming. I can breathe deep and sink into the space. My mama is there now, for me. She always will be.

Grief is proof that love exists.

You may be wondering, how does any of this relate to photography? Oh my love, allow me to show you my gorgeous mama.

I crave her face and cherish every image of her.

Photos matter.