I will admit I've got loads of unpublished posts I should probably publish. I do get stuff off my mind once in awhile. ;) I've needed to write about this for a bit, it's just now at the point of spilling over so out it must come.
Not a specific thing for any length of time. I've just thought a lot about the different places my camera, of all things, has taken me. Because of what I do, I've been involved in moments of people's lives that are life changing. Not only my camera has taken me there of course.
I've just thought a lot about some of the major moments I've been a part of, either by direct involvement or just being a body taking up more space. I've watched humans take their first breath and I have watched them take their last. Beyond having a child of your own or being there to hold the hand of your parent when they pass on, these are things most people wouldn't really be involved in.
On my fan-page I've made mention a few times lately about the places it takes me. However, in one instance, out of respect to the family I would not really divulge more than a blanket statement.
I did blog about the session I already did, I just have not posted it yet, so I won't go into all of that. I just feel that I need to get a few things out in regards to where I was last night. One minute I am sitting here in my sweats listening to the kids crash legos around, Mike watching TV and me fiddling around on facebook. The next thing I know, I'm racing to throw some clothes and make up on, jamming my battering in the charger and then running out the door.
I was asked to photograph a mini-memorial service for the little angel I photographed on the first day of the year.
I have a friend who suffered a HORRIBLE tragic loss when she was barely pregnant, and I mean BARELY pregnant with her beautiful little boy. Her writing was so incredibly profound, so raw, so painfully beautiful, so deeply human that I genuinely hoped she kept it all. Her pain, her anger, her fear, her love, her soul bared and shared with a few friends on the internet. Someone I've yet to lay physical eyes on. Yet I felt as though every true word of what was crashing around in her soul was jumping into me as well. I really do hope that she's kept them all, because I still think of them often. She brushed her words off each time I'd try to tell her how powerful they were and how much GOOD I think they would do the world. I wasn't pumping her ego with nonsense just because I thought it might brighten her world. I wasn't saying to go out and be a writer for a living. It was simply the fact that she wrote everything she felt. No holds barred. These are the honest to goodness emotions that someone felt AT the very moment. This was the effect someone else's poor judgement had caused. It's the thing that people NEED to see, that perhaps they might think about what she went through before they themselves made the same poor decisions that could just as easily cause yet another person such heart ache.
There's another who is a friend of a friend who I've mentioned in the past (though I think on my other blog) who suffered a great loss. She wrote on her public blog to thousands EVERY day as this went on, afterward etc... The raw-ness of it all. The working out of the why's and how's and what if's in a public arena for all to see. This woman's ideas and thoughts were SO incredibly profound, so thought-provoking....I STILL direct people to her blog archives to read it when they're suffering a loss I cannot fathom. Simply because of how much her words helped ME and how she dealt with things.
These are examples of why I find writing SO important. It is also the reason why I'm often missing posts here. I need to write it in the moment when it's fresh and raw and I can't really hold it in. I think a lot of times it helps me work through things to just start typing.
Sometimes, it may even help others who were at the same place, realize what it was through the eyes of someone else.
In a blink I went from hanging out in my sweats and thinking about what laundry I had to do for the next day and how close it was to bed time for the boys...
To standing in a small military airport with a young family and several people in uniform waiting for the carrier plane to land to take their baby's body back to the states so that they could bury her with their family.
As I walked in, I honestly didn't know anyone but the family. I will readily admit I'm far from comfortable with a bunch of people in uniform. Odd I know, me being the rebel girl who's not easily intimidated. It is not intimidation it is actually discomfort out of respect. The last thing I want to be is the asshole that simply didn't know that was SOOOOOO not cool.
I could honestly care less about rank at ALL. I care about it to the point that I expect lower ranks to show some damn respect to those higher than them and the ones that hold it, having earned it and knowing who gets no time to themselves for they spend each moment caring for those under them. That's about as far as it goes.
When you walk into this sort of situation...it's certainly not going to be comfortable. I'm not the one who's afraid to just carry on with whatever mundane sort of conversation one can come up with. I only hesitate because, regardless of how much care I try to take with my words I always feel that I inevitably say something horrible at the WRONG time. Yes, I once complained about my uncomfortable shoes to a woman in a wheelchair....completely unable to catch the words before they came out of my mouth. Once it's out, you certainly can't take it back nor make mention of it because that's even worse. Just pray like hell you can come up with some clever way to make sure they know you're aware of your asinine comment and move on. Hopefully.
For me, for the reason I was there, for the person I am...I just tend to stand back quietly (yes shockingly) unless otherwise instructed. I just prefer to blend into the back like a ninja and document what I came to document and not interfere with people. As it often turns out, idle chitter chatter can help alleviate the heavy air around the most gut-wrenching situations.
What transpired for the next hour and a half after I arrived was a great deal of chit-chat about anything else. A few formalities that were handled like business as usual, cut, dry and straight to the point and immediately back to talking about nothing of any importance. Which is definitely what I think I would prefer. We know what I always say....sometimes it's better to say something incredibly stupid just to fill the space than to say nothing at all.
Being too afraid to speak to someone that's going through such a loss, is often far more hurtful than the idiotic thing you *might* say. It's worse, in my opinion, to be further alienated due to people's fear of saying the wrong thing. It seems to me, that others feel that way as well. You hear about people or see them on TV that don't want to speak to anyone, I have yet to come across those people though so I'm not sure if there really is anyone out there that doesn't like some idle banter or not. Thus far, it seems to be a sanity saver in crappy situations. It's a method of identifying, of keeping some form or normalcy in something that is just not.
I saw this very young family surrounded by caring and genuinely concerned people. It was later in the evening, normally you would see people checking their watches, yawning, eye rolling etc.... None of that. The one time I can recall that I actually saw NOTHING more than respect and honest concern from one end of the room to the other. From the guys from the squadron to the people that worked at the airport, nothing but the utmost respect. As a mother, I appreciated that FOR them more than words could express.
When we finally heard the plane arrive, I know I felt my own heart in my throat. I've run this through in my mind a million times how horrible it must be to have your baby but for only a couple of short weeks, not even able to hold her close to your own skin and lose her. Now to have to put her on this aircraft alone and have to walk away and go home to prepare to fly out separately the next day...it seemed a whole new form of torture. How could I let go? How on earth could *I* let them do things as they are supposed to be done when I'd want nothing more than to be as close as I possibly could to her for the seconds that are left. I say seconds as I'm sure you'd be able to slow them down and count them individually.
We were guided out onto the flight line, everyone in uniform and the family lined up at either side. They all waited patiently, almost at attention though it was not yet required. It was very cold, it was wet out, but still....everyone stood waiting and wearing their respect on their faces like a hat on their heads. I looked across from me and the men who were part of the escort crew that I did not know had joined the line, backs straight, faces forward and then me.... standing awkwardly in the edge of the line, looking about concerned for where I should actually be. Being the one that doesn't actually fit into any of the categories, makes it difficult to maintain your invisibility. One of the airmen across from me gave me a small smile of assurance which was appreciated. Just as quickly, everyone popped to attention and I stepped back out of the way.
We saw the van carrying her little body round the corner, driving so incredibly slowly, being escorted on all sides by soldiers on foot.
As soon as the van neared us it began to rain very softly. The Chaplain meets the van, a prayer is said, she is removed and gently carried to the cargo area of the plane. In line, in perfect unison, they all fall in behind her, one by one, and walk up the ramp, which is lined on each side by the crew, standing at attention.
The Chaplain calls us all in closer, he reads a verse from the Bible, he says The Lord's Prayer, a few more words. We all step out of the plane to give the family a few moments.
They take only one and just like that it is over. I don't blame them a bit, I would have to run away or I would never leave. I am sure they could not get out of there fast enough.
As someone on the outside, someone who had the blessing to meet this sweet little angel and hold her on her pillow just a few short days after her birth. As someone who then found it far more difficult to look at the images on her computer screen after the photos were taken. The moment her mother had to walk off of that plane was the hardest to me.
It was now raining much faster, an odd fast but exceptionally soft rain. I had no umbrella and my clothing would not offer any protection to my gear.
All I wanted to do, was sit down in the middle of the flight line, on the freezing cement in the pouring rain and cry until that plane flew off. I, too, had to run back inside quickly.
I hugged their necks, expressed my condolences, offered any help at all they might need and got in my car.
Eerie thing is, I had to stop for gas on my way home and while I was filling my tank...I heard the engines fire up for take off and the rain stopped.
Not a specific thing for any length of time. I've just thought a lot about the different places my camera, of all things, has taken me. Because of what I do, I've been involved in moments of people's lives that are life changing. Not only my camera has taken me there of course.
I've just thought a lot about some of the major moments I've been a part of, either by direct involvement or just being a body taking up more space. I've watched humans take their first breath and I have watched them take their last. Beyond having a child of your own or being there to hold the hand of your parent when they pass on, these are things most people wouldn't really be involved in.
On my fan-page I've made mention a few times lately about the places it takes me. However, in one instance, out of respect to the family I would not really divulge more than a blanket statement.
I did blog about the session I already did, I just have not posted it yet, so I won't go into all of that. I just feel that I need to get a few things out in regards to where I was last night. One minute I am sitting here in my sweats listening to the kids crash legos around, Mike watching TV and me fiddling around on facebook. The next thing I know, I'm racing to throw some clothes and make up on, jamming my battering in the charger and then running out the door.
I was asked to photograph a mini-memorial service for the little angel I photographed on the first day of the year.
I have a friend who suffered a HORRIBLE tragic loss when she was barely pregnant, and I mean BARELY pregnant with her beautiful little boy. Her writing was so incredibly profound, so raw, so painfully beautiful, so deeply human that I genuinely hoped she kept it all. Her pain, her anger, her fear, her love, her soul bared and shared with a few friends on the internet. Someone I've yet to lay physical eyes on. Yet I felt as though every true word of what was crashing around in her soul was jumping into me as well. I really do hope that she's kept them all, because I still think of them often. She brushed her words off each time I'd try to tell her how powerful they were and how much GOOD I think they would do the world. I wasn't pumping her ego with nonsense just because I thought it might brighten her world. I wasn't saying to go out and be a writer for a living. It was simply the fact that she wrote everything she felt. No holds barred. These are the honest to goodness emotions that someone felt AT the very moment. This was the effect someone else's poor judgement had caused. It's the thing that people NEED to see, that perhaps they might think about what she went through before they themselves made the same poor decisions that could just as easily cause yet another person such heart ache.
There's another who is a friend of a friend who I've mentioned in the past (though I think on my other blog) who suffered a great loss. She wrote on her public blog to thousands EVERY day as this went on, afterward etc... The raw-ness of it all. The working out of the why's and how's and what if's in a public arena for all to see. This woman's ideas and thoughts were SO incredibly profound, so thought-provoking....I STILL direct people to her blog archives to read it when they're suffering a loss I cannot fathom. Simply because of how much her words helped ME and how she dealt with things.
These are examples of why I find writing SO important. It is also the reason why I'm often missing posts here. I need to write it in the moment when it's fresh and raw and I can't really hold it in. I think a lot of times it helps me work through things to just start typing.
Sometimes, it may even help others who were at the same place, realize what it was through the eyes of someone else.
In a blink I went from hanging out in my sweats and thinking about what laundry I had to do for the next day and how close it was to bed time for the boys...
To standing in a small military airport with a young family and several people in uniform waiting for the carrier plane to land to take their baby's body back to the states so that they could bury her with their family.
As I walked in, I honestly didn't know anyone but the family. I will readily admit I'm far from comfortable with a bunch of people in uniform. Odd I know, me being the rebel girl who's not easily intimidated. It is not intimidation it is actually discomfort out of respect. The last thing I want to be is the asshole that simply didn't know that was SOOOOOO not cool.
I could honestly care less about rank at ALL. I care about it to the point that I expect lower ranks to show some damn respect to those higher than them and the ones that hold it, having earned it and knowing who gets no time to themselves for they spend each moment caring for those under them. That's about as far as it goes.
When you walk into this sort of situation...it's certainly not going to be comfortable. I'm not the one who's afraid to just carry on with whatever mundane sort of conversation one can come up with. I only hesitate because, regardless of how much care I try to take with my words I always feel that I inevitably say something horrible at the WRONG time. Yes, I once complained about my uncomfortable shoes to a woman in a wheelchair....completely unable to catch the words before they came out of my mouth. Once it's out, you certainly can't take it back nor make mention of it because that's even worse. Just pray like hell you can come up with some clever way to make sure they know you're aware of your asinine comment and move on. Hopefully.
For me, for the reason I was there, for the person I am...I just tend to stand back quietly (yes shockingly) unless otherwise instructed. I just prefer to blend into the back like a ninja and document what I came to document and not interfere with people. As it often turns out, idle chitter chatter can help alleviate the heavy air around the most gut-wrenching situations.
What transpired for the next hour and a half after I arrived was a great deal of chit-chat about anything else. A few formalities that were handled like business as usual, cut, dry and straight to the point and immediately back to talking about nothing of any importance. Which is definitely what I think I would prefer. We know what I always say....sometimes it's better to say something incredibly stupid just to fill the space than to say nothing at all.
Being too afraid to speak to someone that's going through such a loss, is often far more hurtful than the idiotic thing you *might* say. It's worse, in my opinion, to be further alienated due to people's fear of saying the wrong thing. It seems to me, that others feel that way as well. You hear about people or see them on TV that don't want to speak to anyone, I have yet to come across those people though so I'm not sure if there really is anyone out there that doesn't like some idle banter or not. Thus far, it seems to be a sanity saver in crappy situations. It's a method of identifying, of keeping some form or normalcy in something that is just not.
I saw this very young family surrounded by caring and genuinely concerned people. It was later in the evening, normally you would see people checking their watches, yawning, eye rolling etc.... None of that. The one time I can recall that I actually saw NOTHING more than respect and honest concern from one end of the room to the other. From the guys from the squadron to the people that worked at the airport, nothing but the utmost respect. As a mother, I appreciated that FOR them more than words could express.
When we finally heard the plane arrive, I know I felt my own heart in my throat. I've run this through in my mind a million times how horrible it must be to have your baby but for only a couple of short weeks, not even able to hold her close to your own skin and lose her. Now to have to put her on this aircraft alone and have to walk away and go home to prepare to fly out separately the next day...it seemed a whole new form of torture. How could I let go? How on earth could *I* let them do things as they are supposed to be done when I'd want nothing more than to be as close as I possibly could to her for the seconds that are left. I say seconds as I'm sure you'd be able to slow them down and count them individually.
We were guided out onto the flight line, everyone in uniform and the family lined up at either side. They all waited patiently, almost at attention though it was not yet required. It was very cold, it was wet out, but still....everyone stood waiting and wearing their respect on their faces like a hat on their heads. I looked across from me and the men who were part of the escort crew that I did not know had joined the line, backs straight, faces forward and then me.... standing awkwardly in the edge of the line, looking about concerned for where I should actually be. Being the one that doesn't actually fit into any of the categories, makes it difficult to maintain your invisibility. One of the airmen across from me gave me a small smile of assurance which was appreciated. Just as quickly, everyone popped to attention and I stepped back out of the way.
We saw the van carrying her little body round the corner, driving so incredibly slowly, being escorted on all sides by soldiers on foot.
As soon as the van neared us it began to rain very softly. The Chaplain meets the van, a prayer is said, she is removed and gently carried to the cargo area of the plane. In line, in perfect unison, they all fall in behind her, one by one, and walk up the ramp, which is lined on each side by the crew, standing at attention.
The Chaplain calls us all in closer, he reads a verse from the Bible, he says The Lord's Prayer, a few more words. We all step out of the plane to give the family a few moments.
They take only one and just like that it is over. I don't blame them a bit, I would have to run away or I would never leave. I am sure they could not get out of there fast enough.
As someone on the outside, someone who had the blessing to meet this sweet little angel and hold her on her pillow just a few short days after her birth. As someone who then found it far more difficult to look at the images on her computer screen after the photos were taken. The moment her mother had to walk off of that plane was the hardest to me.
It was now raining much faster, an odd fast but exceptionally soft rain. I had no umbrella and my clothing would not offer any protection to my gear.
All I wanted to do, was sit down in the middle of the flight line, on the freezing cement in the pouring rain and cry until that plane flew off. I, too, had to run back inside quickly.
I hugged their necks, expressed my condolences, offered any help at all they might need and got in my car.
Eerie thing is, I had to stop for gas on my way home and while I was filling my tank...I heard the engines fire up for take off and the rain stopped.
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