Something so tragic is hard to put into words. At time it feels like this never happened, but then something brings it all back. The reality of the funeral service, the ever present black clothes, the frequent hugs that are tighter than they used to be. Shepherding two children through such a deep and mournful time is a god-send, and also an extra layer on the onion of grief. Finding time to grieve and cry while still keeping the children blissfully ignorant, attempting to explain just where Amu Farshud is, and why he won’t show up with arms full of oddly sized dresses and funky accessories, and trying to even touch the surface of why their Grandmother is so sad.
There is no way to touch on the grief of a mother, a grief that makes any other pale in comparison. Suddenly past grievances fade away, even the most horrifying transgressions reveal themselves as what petty nothings they were. And all that is left is a woman broken and drowning in her grief, and in need of every one of the 1,100 people who came to help lift her and the rest of the family back up. The amount of support I have witnessed has been awe-inspiring. So many people have come for Farshud, to see him laid to rest, and to share his memories and to keep in alive in thoughts and dreams.
Through it all, it has been a blessing to have two tiny angels, one who speaks with out words, and another who finds new ways to master vocabulary every day. They keep pulling us from the depth of sorrow back into life. Life that keeps going on, children who keep growing, and a world that keeps turning. I can’t help but smile back at the rays of joy that burst from their faces, and for them I saw the first smiles return to the faces of those that had been somber and tearful for long days. To see my husband smile again, now that has been a treat.
In this experience my camera was laid to rest for a full two weeks. There just was not enough in me to capture this much. At the same time, I realize what a gift I have, that I have those moments in time to give to those who are missing Farshud. Each moment just a fraction of a second, but the memories that go with it go on and on. f you have a camera, pick it up and shoot. Live those moments, and find your way of keeping them, because they are truly precious. If you hate having your photo taken, remember that the photos are not always for you. Some day, hopefully decades down the road, people will look at those photos and smile as they remember moments of joy and life.
I will leave you with these few stolen moments, the way we brought in the Persian New Year, our thoughts with Farshud, and a few rays of sunshine amidst the clouds.







For those that have contacted me, and are waiting for your photos — thank you so much for your patience and kind words. I am getting back in the swing of things, and will have a new preview up tomorrow.