As a family and couples photographer, my inspiration for what I do isn’t just about creating pretty art for people to hang on their walls or share with friends on social media.

My purpose goes a lot deeper than that.

I’m going to get a little vulnerable here, so hold tight.

For those who don’t know me personally, my husband proposed to me on New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2020. It was an amazing moment, and I was ecstatic that the man I loved so deeply had asked me to spend the rest of our lives together.

A month or two into 2021, we were still dealing with the COVID pandemic, adjusting to a new normal and figuring out what the next few years of our lives were going to look like. We were both changing careers, and my then-fiancé was considering going back to school to further his training career.

For us, that could have meant leaving Nova Scotia and moving to Quebec for six years while he worked toward a new degree.

We decided that if we were going to leave the province we were born in and move away from family, I didn’t want to plan a wedding from another province, or spend six years as a fiancée.

So, we decided to get married that very same summer. (I know CRAZY)

We chose August 28, 2021, and planned an intimate backyard wedding at my husband’s grandparents’ home, surrounded by a small group of our closest friends and family. At the time, gathering limits were restricted to only 10 people. As the date got closer, restrictions changed and we were eventually able to invite 50.

But in the middle of planning our wedding, everything changed.

In June, while I we were at my husband’s tux fitting, I got a call no one ever wants to receive.

My father had fallen ill and was being taken to the hospital by ambulance. He spent that evening waiting alone at the hospital to be admitted, and the next morning we were told to come in because there was news about his health.

We rushed to the hospital and were told that my father had metastatic cancer throughout his body and that he did not have long to live.

It was devastating news to hear, especially as a soon-to-be bride who had been planning for her dad to be there on her wedding day.

While we waited for tests and tried to figure out what came next, my father and I had a heart-to-heart. He wanted to be there to see us get married.

So, we started making plans to get married right there in the hospital, at his bedside.

Unfortunately, we never got that chance.

After only 10 days in the hospital, my father’s body couldn’t fight any longer. He passed away on June 25, just two months before our planned wedding day.

Knowing how badly my dad had wanted to see us get married, I couldn’t bring myself to cancel our wedding. We went ahead with August 28 as planned.

The Photos We Didn’t Have

Both of my parents were the type of people who NEVER wanted their photos taken at family functions.

They had a few studio photos taken with me when I was young, but as I got older, those photos became fewer and farther between.

When we were planning the details of both my wedding day and my dad’s funeral, we had a hard time finding recent photos of him.

One of the only proper portraits we had was a Sears studio portrait from probably more than 20 years earlier and some wedding photos from when he and my mother were married, some 27 years prior.

I ended up using a photo taken of my father and his best man at their wedding to save him a seat at our wedding.

And that has stuck with me.

It’s a huge part of why I have such a passion for capturing people at every moment, the tears, the laughs, the stumbles, the funny faces and everything else that makes someone them.

Because I hear people say things like:

“I’ll get photos done when I lose weight.”

“I don’t like my smile.”

“I hate my hair.”

“I don’t like my arms.”

“I don’t like my stomach”

And I understand that we can be our own worst critics.

But do you know who isn’t going to care about any of those things?

The child left behind who would give anything to have another photo of their parent.

They aren’t going to look at that photo and think about the weight you wanted to lose or the way you felt about your arms that day.

They’re going to see you, their parent, their loved one.

Your smile. The way you laughed. The way you looked at them. The way you held them. What you looked like during this part of their life.

They’re going to care about those precious moments long after you’re gone.

So, Just Get the Freaking Photos Done

Photos are incredibly important.

They tell a story of who we were that can be remembered years after we’re gone. They’re something our loved ones can keep, look back on and eventually pass down to their own children.

And they don’t need to be perfect.

They don’t even need to be professional.

Of course, as a photographer, I would love for you to book the family session, the couples session or whatever photos you’ve been putting off. But this message is bigger than booking a photoshoot.

Hand your phone to someone at the family barbecue.

Get in the picture with your kids instead of always being the person taking it.

Take the photo with your partner even if you don’t feel completely put together.

Ask someone to grab a photo of you with your parents.

Book the photoshoot you’ve been saying you’ll do “someday.”

And don’t worry about whether the photos are worthy of Instagram or whether they’ll ever end up framed on your wall.

Just make sure they exist.

Because my advice, as the girl who doesn’t have the photos, is simple:

Get the freaking photos done.

Even if you never share them.

Even if they never make it into a frame.

Take them. Keep them. Preserve them.

Because someday, someone may want nothing more than to remember you.