I created this in the aftermath of 9/11, while waiting anxiously for news of friends who worked there. All I saw in the media were horrible images of destruction. What stood out for me were the images of people jumping, and I wanted to create an image that showed them safe in God’s hands. My photo was a prayer for those people and for those who loved them.
Submitted by Cynthia
This image is very personal to me because it is my mother\'s wedding dress. I wanted to find a way to honor her life, so I created this image and wrote the following tribute with it: Karen Lee Whittemore wed Ralph Ellington Mosely, III on May 15, 1965 in Nashville, Tennessee. They were sweethearts throughout high school and college. The beautiful ivory silk wedding gown with imported lace was lovingly made by her mother. The ceremony was held at Second Presbyterian Church. It was a small and intimate celebration. Karen and Ralph (“Skip”) were married for 48 years and had two daughters, Michelle and Jennie. Karen devoted most of her years to being a stay at home mother. Later in life, she entered full-time ministry and found great fulfillment there. Karen was diagnosed with breast cancer at the end of April 2014. Her children cared for her the last month of her life since Skip had passed away 8 months earlier. In her final days she spoke of seeing her husband. He told her there would be an amazing party for her on Sunday. Karen said Skip showed her a glimpse of this celebration and it was like nothing she had ever seen. A few more days passed and then Karen peacefully passed away in her home June 1, 2014. It was Sunday.
Submitted by Michelle
Rosa laying roses on Alfie's grave. When we arrived at the cemetery, it was a shock to know that Alfie, who took his own life at age 14, was under the cracked parched earth, and that his grave was untended--as if someone so vibrant and energetic and fun had suddenly been swallowed up by the earth. And no matter how strong his presence here, he was gone forever. There was something cathartic about decorating it with roses and flowers and photographs--a way to say I care and also eerie. Could he hear us talking to him or were we just whispering to the wind?
Submitted by Alix
North Hawaii Hospice Lantern Ceremony preparation for my friends that I have lost this year
Submitted by Donna
I lost my uncle…he was always encouraging and supportive no matter what I did (especially my photography). He was like a father to me, since I wasn't close to my own father. My uncle loved the outdoors and loved his Native American heritage. He was most of the time kind but, like all of us, dealt with his own demons in his own way. Which is why we could relate to each other so well. "Whatever you do in life, do the very best you can, with both your heart and mind." - Lakota Quote. I miss him all the time.
Submitted by Colleen
Grampa’s space
Submitted by Frank
I photograph landscapes as the result of the loss of my dad, Richard Tetzlaff. Photography helps process my thoughts and attempts to identify what grief may look like in nature. The images reflect his influence and illustrate how my participation in this process becomes a valuable reconnection with him through the work.
Submitted by Sally
This picture is of his footprints in the sand along with the paw prints of his beloved dog. They were inseparable. And he walked her on the beach every day, twice a day. It has been almost 13 weeks since he passed suddenly and unexpectedly. It has taken her 12 of those weeks to come to me for pats. Even though we took her to see him at the funeral home so she would not wonder and search for him, she has been as heartbroken as I.
Submitted by Diane
This is my little girl. This pic can show the grief of a little girl missing her mother and holding a wall instead.
Submitted by Jo-Ann
We lost my father. We had him home with hospice for about 3 months. We watched this strong, vibrant and alive man wither. He shrunk, he atrophied, the light went out of his soulful eyes slowly. To the end he was internally strong and mad that his body wouldn't work. He was mad that he had grown dependent. He was mad that he just couldn't live. He wasn't one to sit and in the last months, that's all he could do. As a care taker, I did things I never dreamed a daughter would have to do. Dad was a military man, USAF and served during the Korean War. He took the flag, this country and his life very seriously. He loved to fly, be in planes, watch planes or anything that had to do with flying. He loved nature as well. He'd sit and watch animal life, the clouds and all that encompassed him. He was an avid photographer which is where I'm certain my passion comes from. He loved to travel, he loved to photograph nature mostly. This print reminds me of him. The rock for his strength, the blue sky for his heavenly passing AND him soaring in the wild blue skies, the cracks and crevices for his “weaknesses” and how beautiful it all is even if it’s not perfect. Dad was our rock and what brought us all together. This photo kind of ties that all together. We realize he’'s been looking down watching over us, happy that I am still traveling, taking photos and living life, from the heavens.
Submitted by Jeanene
This images are the tools of my father he left behind long ago, These images are the homage of my father’s work and memory.
Submitted by Israel
This is a pic of Bear Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. After my father passed suddenly, my family decided to go to CO as a private memorial to him. This particular spot is significant in that we have a old pic of him and his brother here, when they were kids, and my grandfather. The park has been a family retreat for generations. And we left some of his ashes close to this spot. So this is a sacred resting place that my family can revisit. I took the pic initially to share with family. But then felt compelled to pay tribute to my father and my hero publicly. I never really did when he was here. So here it is. I miss him. Every day.
Submitted by Joel
I touched base with one of my closest friends who was living in Southern Utah (and I in NYC). I wrote to her, saying we had to plan a phone date to catch up. Three weeks later, shortly after the new year, I learned from her brother she had died. I was shocked, thought it was a skiing accident or car crash, but she had committed suicide. I grew weak, stood at the kitchen table trying to wrap my head around what I was hearing; it didn't make sense. Ann Marie was the most vivacious person I'd ever met. She traveled; she partied; she worked...she wouldn't take her life; there was so much to live for! Tragically, she had shot herself in the woods. It took her friends and family days to find the body. Every time I hit a milestone in my life, I hear her voice. Ann Marie was my cheerleader in life. She had my back and kept telling me to live, not work so much. I didn't call her that night because I was “too busy." My life unraveled a little that year because in addition to Ann Marie, nine others died in the span of seven months. It has taken me time to rebuild. I went to creative arts therapy and started to pursue my photography as a little more than just a hobby. I'm currently pushing and working to find commercial success so I can do what I love and love what I do. Her death gave me the license to live and not get stuck in the daily grind. Her death allows me to see the colors a little brighter and feel that breeze on my face. I make choices in living a meaningful life. No longer am I "too busy" to ever pick up the phone and reach out to the people I love. I went to the beach and sat in the lifeguard's chair to watch the sunset. I always miss Ann Marie. I always wish she was here to tell me she's proud of me, but since her love can no longer come to me in a form I'm used to, I will accept her presence in these fleeting moments. There's something magical about hearing her laugh as the sun goes down.
Submitted by Kelly
My uncle\'s passing was an emotional rollercoaster of relief and grief; the relief clearly etched on his face, as his features relaxed after his final breath left his body; the grief mine, alone in a hospital room with a man that would no longer demand a “smootch” from me when I next saw him. Bob was an 88 year-old man with profound deafness and had been since he was a young man. Despite this, he lived a full and productive life, particularly once he met and married my aunt in his late thirties. But after her death from breast cancer, he became very lonely. And once his little dog passed away, Bob slowly lost his will to live. He was a fit old buggar, but dementia had set in. The floods of December 2016 hit his backyard like a tsumani. Somehow it delivered the golden staph that left him barely conscious on his bedroom floor (when I found him) and saw him hospitalized. You see, Bob had his wishes. He did not want to be resuscitated and he did not want his life prolonged. Certainly not when there was nothing left for him to live for. And, in his mind, being moved from his home into a care facility was not worth living for. He was moved into a palliative care ward and “made comfortable” until he passed away. As I promised, I was with him at the end. In this hospital room.
Submitted by Susan
My 21 year-old son was killed by a truck driver while riding his bike to work in San Francisco. He had just moved out of our home a few days earlier. He was the oldest of my 4 sons & such a sweet, positive, charismatic & loving son. His death has devastated our family. The summer after his death we just needed to get away from everything & go to be with nature. So we rented a cabin up in the Sierras beside the Yuba River. While wading in the water, the very first thing I noticed was this black heart rock & it felt like it was from my son Dylan.
Submitted by Julie
It was home for the first 21 years of my life. It’s where meals were cooked, inches where grown, laughter was had and tears flowed. If those walls could talk, it would tell you some tails; some happy and some sad. It was the place I learned everything about who I am and where I came from, but what resonates most is that it was the last place I saw my father. He made the most permanent choice that changed everything. I've carried his choice with me for nearly 15 years. That is when I found art and self-reflection. Through my photography, I learned to talk about my loss. I grew stronger. I learned to forgive and I learned I wasn't alone. Last year my childhood home was torn down, and now more than ever I am so grateful to have captured this image. I look back at it to remember where I came from and now I can smile because I have come so far.
Submitted by Megan
This is a photo of the irresistible beauty that my son had gone to witness. I am soothed in my grief by the knowledge that his final moments were spent doing what he loved, with people he loved, in a place he just couldn’t resist going. I took this photo when I returned with my sister to the place he fell. The area is just awe inspiring.
Submitted by Larae
When I went to Johnny's house the first time after we watched him die in the hospital, I walked in the front door and his shoes were right where he left them. I took a picture. I wondered what he might have been going through when he took these off. I wondered if he had any idea that the last time he took these off that he was about to die.
Submitted by Michelle P.
I’ve encountered many struggles in my short time here on earth, and I constantly felt trapped. My friend and mentor, Jeff, changed that for me in many ways and although he passed he continues to impact my life. He helped me introduce activities that had a freeing sensation, a place or activity where I could be in the moment and feel free from everything. As a kid, I would spend hours on the swings in my backyard so it only made sense to reintroduce it. When I’m having a rough week, I do my best to get on the swings and swing the pain away. Since Jeff has passed, its been a difficult transition but I still talk to him and I can often hear his advice for the situation I’m in—“Get on the swings.”
Submitted by Katharine
After my best friend died, I got this tattoo to remember her by. People often ask if I'm from San Francisco, but I'm actually from northern New Jersey. Hope was a friend from high school who died by suicide when I was in my first year of college. This bridge symbolizes a place that we used to go to in the next town over, where we would sit and talk about our lives. It has taken on new meaning for me since. It connects me to her from this world into the next, and and serves as a permanent reminder that I can make a difference in other people\'s lives by reaching out. Another thing about the bridge symbol is that people may not know where people are in terms of their mental health, if they've walked the length of the bridge and are thinking to jump. It serves as inspiration to say hello to strangers, offer help to those in need, and even take care of my own mental health. However, I know that singular efforts are not enough for a healthcare reform. Moving forward, I want to participate and lead larger movements to bring awareness to the needs of vulnerable populations- such as college students- but others too. The placement of this tattoo has extra importance to me. I met my friend in marching band, and, as anyone in band knows, you step off with your left foot. So long as I put my best foot forward, I know that I'm capable of anything. My work has only just begun.
Submitted by Allison
This was something my boyfriend, himself, had started last year. He had got the stencils of our last names placed but couldn't decide what he wanted to put in the middle. He had wanted to make this plaque so we could hold it for pictures that Christmas, to hang on the wall and eventually hold in wedding pictures someday. Well, life happened and we got busy and he never finished it before Christmas, and still couldn\'t figure out the middle. Then February 6th happened. He went to work like a normal day, but it wasn't a normal day. He had a massive heart attack. They were able to eventually get his heart beating again, but he was put on a ventilator. Late in the day on the 8th, we found out he had no brain function due to the swelling that had started from the lack of oxygen the day of his heart attack. We spent the next day remembering him and celebrating him. Then the 10th we removed his life support, and he passed peacefully with his family at his bedside. Due to my money situation, I immediately knew I was going to move. I couldn\'t afford our house on my own. So I moved in with my mom. As I was moving, I found the plaque and knew I had to finish it for him. It took a couple months, but one day it came to me out of no where. EST 2012. The year we met. The year we became us. The year we went from being 1 to 2. I know he helped it come to me. I feel his presence every day guiding me. I just wish he had been here to see the finished project and to have been able to hold it with me in a picture. Especially that wedding one we always wanted.
Submitted by Nancy
My Father…I learned to love dandelions…to make a wish and to see where the winds will take them. For the way that they sit their huge heads so high. From this Man who taught me how to take and see the world through pictures. At his knee, he was my inspiration on how a light meter works or how the chemicals in the different baths created a photo...at the age of 4. He loved photography and sent me down the road of many arts. Flowers were his favorite thing to photograph and a part of that follows me. This beautiful head of the dandelion was taken on the side of a busy street growing from the crack of the curb with traffic going by constantly. Then one day the fluffy head was gone, but the nub still held high. I always saw the cycle, the endurance, and the survival of even the most delicate when placed in a treacherous surroundings...as being perfectly possible…going forward the little seeds that were planted, moved on, and the dandelions job was done. But the creation of all those seeds live on in so many ways.
Submitted by Luanie
I like the eyes and face of this child who seems a little bit sad or melancholic. And for me, it also symbolizes the loss of the innocence. Myanmar is a very beautiful country, but it is also a poor country. Being a child in this country is certainly difficult for many of them.
Submitted by Nicolas
We lost our son Ryan - he was 28 but "medically fragile" his entire life. Special Olympics was a big part of his life. When he passed away, we strongly requested no flowers but that donations be made in his honor to the groups who enriched his life. One of the groups was his school district Special Olympics team. A significant amount of money was donated and his coaches asked us how they should use the money. Honestly, we were not ready to help with that decision. A few weeks after his passing, I got a phone call from a coach who worked with Ryan throughout his life - she had an idea how to spend the money. As she explained to me, she always saw Ryan as "light" and she wanted to have a cauldron built in his honor to be used at all future local Special Olympics events. What beautiful symbolism. This picture is of us lighting the cauldron the very first time - note how the flame took the shape of a runner. This touched us because one of Ryan's favorite events was the local track and field event!
Submitted by Rob
This is Nina's tree. Nina and I became friends after I moved into the building where she lived. That July, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. During most of our friendship, I tried to support her through her chemo, surgery, radiation, more chemo, and, finally palliative care. Nina loved this tree, and so we renamed it, claiming it as hers. I had to leave NYC, because of economics, but we spoke every single day. I returned to see her three times before she died. I spoke to her for the last time seven days before her death. We had always talked about me being with her, but once her brother joined her, it seemed inappropriate to interfere. He and I were in touch during that last week. I think about her every day. I realize that even though she thought I was supporting her, that she was my rock and foundation. Every year, on the anniversary of her death, I post this photo along with the text of Maya Angelou's poem, "When Great Trees Fall." It perfectly expresses how I feel about her.
Submitted by Leslie
My 22 year-old son, Brett, died in a tragic snowboarding accident. His college friends and the snow rescue team held a remembrance event for him. Hundreds of people showed up. The night culminated in fireworks and a torch run down the mountain by the rescue team. Such heartache and such an outpouring of love. Grateful and grieving.
Submitted by Wendy
This is a photo of one of my best friends who lost her older brother at a young age. I wanted to give her this photoshoot opportunity to help with her grieving and share her story about the loss of her brother. I wanted to connect her memorial tattoo she has for him to the physical world as well to give a sense that no matter what these events are that happen when we loss someone close, they stick with us, but that person will forever be with us.
Submitted by Samantha
My roommate, Bill, always had the biggest balls in the neighborhood. Miss you, bro. Humor helps with the journey.
Submitted by Tony
This photo is of the shack that my daughter Sasha's mother was living in with other people. Adoption is a wonderful thing as a way to provide family and nurturing to children who need it. But adoption also inevitably involves loss. When I see this photo, I hurt for baby Sasha who didn't have a safe place to live, and for her birth mom, too. As it happens, her birth mom died after Sasha had gone to live in the orphanage. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to be her birth mom and not to have a safe place to keep her. It is such a precious gift and a privilege and sacred trust from the universe that I have been allowed to be Sasha's adoptive mom. I try not to forget that.
Submitted by Rosemary
I lost my youngest brother, Robb. Robb was the last of my three brothers. It was so hard losing him. Robb left me the guitar that our dad had bought for him. Whenever I look at wear on the guitar, I can hear him playing again.
Submitted by Carla