My grieving for the loss of my daughter is not a solitary experience. My wife and our three daughters here are also feeling the effects of recently learning of the death of my biological daughter; the daughter and the sister they will never be able to meet. At times my wife will catch me looking into that unseen distance that only the mind can experience; she will ask a question or make a comment that brings me back into the present.
It is an event I cannot change, though I wish otherwise. At the oddest times the tears flow, though I wish otherwise. I wish, I wish...but I cannot change it, nor can I control it.
As I fight to look through the fog as I look into the distance that only the mind can see, I have set a couple of expectations for me. No, I don't have expectations for anyone else, only the self. I expect not to alienate those who are close to me. Yes, I do have anger, but I know my friends and family here are not responsible for any of this. Yes, I do have questions; however, those who have the answers are half a world away and in a different universal reality that has become incomprehensible to me. No one here can answer my questions. I've been testy a time or two, and my wife has diverted that toxic energy with success. Rather than remain silent, she engages me about what has happened.
In my attempt to create photographic art, my goal is to keep my compositions as simple and as minimal as possible. Eliminate the distractions and the fads. The trivial is unnecessary. The irrelevant is not wanted. A short time after learning of the death of my daughter, I realized that I needed to rid some of the trivial and irrelevant distractions in my life. They weren't important as they only served to focus attention away from those things which are important, truly important: family and friends.
Speaking to the subject of photography, I am working on two projects important to me. I find myself sitting on the riverbank or on the edge of the bay just looking. As I process my work I lose enthusiasm and focus. Another day, I tell myself. I also tell myself that it is okay.