“I started a photo project in 2018. Wandered around the house and photographed light, shadows, and little family things: a chair, a glass deer, and an old portrait. I also took a lot of photos of my son’s truck and his room. 

I felt the sweetness of these little treasures, of family, of the present moment, while at the same time feeling the heaviness of a ‘not-yet-grief’. I didn’t really understand it. It didn’t make sense.

Although my son, Noah, left to work in Alaska, I thought it’s not empty-nest. He has lived on his own before. He would work there for the summers and come back to Mobile the rest of the year.

When my dad died a few years ago, I thought maybe that’s what this was about. But then I started doing the pictures again. Why? 

Now it makes sense.

One of the more recent photos is in our old house. I photographed a pair of Noah’s boots in the middle of the living room with a patch of light on them. The house was empty except for those boots. That was on February 4th of this year.

Exactly one month later, I got a call and learned that he had been in a wreck.

Noah’s friend said he had been working on his truck the night before. We’re pretty sure something malfunctioned. He was on his way to work.

He had called me a night or two before, telling me about the alligator he took people out on the boat to see. He would stop the boat and call to her, ‘Come here, Wanda. Come here, Wanda.’ Noah called her ‘One-Eyed Wanda’ because she had one eye. The alligator would swim out of the reeds, and he would scratch her on the nose. He loved it and was happy. That’s where he was going when he wrecked his truck.

Noah’s friends came to see him in the Trauma ICU. At first, they were only allowed to come in one or two at a time. 

He was there for several days. It was horrific.

Then they let everyone come in for a prayer just before he died. The whole room was a circle of his friends around the bed, praying for him, and my brother was on speaker phone.

To see the impact your kid has made–it was incredible. So many people told me, ‘He is my best friend.’

Having to tell Noah goodbye, to see your child die—it’s impossible to imagine. I am shattered.

When somebody close to you dies like that, there is so much to sort through; we barely had time to grieve until after the service. But I screamed. When we got home from the hospital, I screamed and screamed like in a horror movie. My husband had to hold me up.

There are times when I can talk about it matter-of-fact, but then I’ll see or think of something, and I’ll cry. The first time I went to the supermarket, I couldn’t handle it. It was so hard to see people walking around as if everything was ok. I got a few things, put them in the car, and left. I waited until there were no cars around, and then I screamed in the car on my way home. Deep, primal, roaring screams. Somehow, I felt a little bit better afterward.

A while later, Noah’s boss took us to meet One-Eyed Wanda. Some of his friends who had come in from Alaska for the service wanted to go too. The service was Sunday, and on Tuesday we all went to Louisiana and met One-Eyed Wanda.

Mostly, it was helpful. There was joy in being with his friends, being out in nature, and seeing something he loved. But as we were leaving, I started tearing up again because he’s gone.

Did you see the movie Shadowlands about C. S. Lewis? There’s a quote, something like, ‘the joy now is part of the pain then. The pain then is part of the joy now.’ The joy that you experience when someone’s in your life is part of the grief when they’re gone. I felt that on the swamp tour.

When Noah was little, he was into skateboarding, rollerblading, and playing football. When he got older, he got a motorcycle and then a job as a deckhand in Alaska. He worked his way up to captain. He was doing all those things that make a mom’s heart stop, but he was doing what he loved. I felt it coming but couldn’t stop it. It was nothing specific, just this sense of ‘not-yet-grief’ that I didn’t understand until afterward, until now.

My dad was always taking pictures. I picked it up from him, and Noah picked it up from me. He had an eye for unique angles.

I gave Noah some of my cameras–they were in his truck and were ejected from the vehicle during the wreck. They were all busted up, but they still worked. I took pictures with this lens from his broken camera; I didn’t clean it because I just wanted it how it was.

Photography helps me make sense of things and be present, like everything else just disappears. If I was taking a picture, I wouldn’t be worrying about the news or hearing the train going by. Everything else fades away but what is in front of me in that moment.

After Noah died, I was going through his stuff and found a pair of his socks. It was hard to put that pair of socks in the garbage. Everything that I have of his is all I’ve got left of him–that and the memories. It’s hard to let go. I miss so much.”

Karen