I’m having a horrible time sleeping tonight. This is a photo of my brother and Caitlyn, who is blocking her face from the Kodak flash. This photo was taken around 2 years ago on New Years Eve. Recently, Cait has passed, and it has been on the news non-stop. Before photography grew into this malicious critique fest, coming back to these old images made me realize why I even documented anything in the first place; I had  to capture the small details of things everyone else forgot. I lost most of my photos that year, yet I still had this saved. You can’t see Cait— no, that’s not the point— but you can also see the candidness, the playfulness, and I can hear the laughter and the feeling of it all over again. This moment may have slipped through the cracks of my brain, but thanks to an impulse Kodak buy, I have this. Although I’ll never relive a 2012 New Years and I’ll never see her again, we have this. My brother has this. We can cling to something, even if it’s embedded in a memory, floating between a dozen other photographs inside a shoebox beneath my bed.

I’m having a horrible time sleeping tonight. This is a photo of my brother and Caitlyn, who is blocking her face from the Kodak flash. This photo was taken around 2 years ago on New Years Eve. Recently, Cait has passed, and it has been on the news non-stop. Before photography grew into this malicious critique fest, coming back to these old images made me realize why I even documented anything in the first place; I had to capture the small details of things everyone else forgot. I lost most of my photos that year, yet I still had this saved. You can’t see Cait— no, that’s not the point— but you can also see the candidness, the playfulness, and I can hear the laughter and the feeling of it all over again. This moment may have slipped through the cracks of my brain, but thanks to an impulse Kodak buy, I have this. Although I’ll never relive a 2012 New Years and I’ll never see her again, we have this. My brother has this. We can cling to something, even if it’s embedded in a memory, floating between a dozen other photographs inside a shoebox beneath my bed.