On most of my emails I have a quote by Henry Cartier Bresson (sometimes called the Father of the Decisive Moment): “Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished, no contrivance on earth can make them come back again.”
Life is vanishing. I was reminded of this recently with the passing of my father-in-law. He was ninety-three years old and had led a good, long life. All the relatives gathered and honored this humble man…a World War Two veteran, a father, a husband, an elder in his church, a friend, a brother. Undoubtedly, the biggest conversation point of this poignant gathering was a picture-storyboard my wife had hastily put together the day before. Pictures from long ago were lovingly arranged on foamboard for all to see the progression of this man’s life…from childhood, up through all the events of his life…his life of service to his country during the ‘Great War’, his marriage, his children and their growing up, his retirement, his hobbies and passions.
As with all my travels, I had lugged my cameras to this event. The evening prior to the funeral I had taken pictures of family, the newest addition to it, and the hugs which were exchanged. My oldest son and I sat on the patio and shot pictures of birds feeding in the back yard. While sitting in the funeral home, my wife came to me and asked if I would take pictures of her father’s casket and the flowers and at the reception following she wanted pictures of everyone who had made the trip to see her father one last time and pay their respects. Undoubtedly, for many of us, the most moving event was his burial in Willamette Veteran’s Cemetary near Portland. As a WWII veteran, military honors were performed at his interment…taps were played, the flag was given and he was saluted for his service and goodbyes were said. All of this recorded so others could remember:
Well done as always dad!