There’s something special about taking someone’s photo. In some cultures, it’s so intimate they think the camera steals your soul. My goal as a photographer has always been to capture the sparkle in someone’s eyes, the laughter behind their grin. My best work used to be from chasing people and animals around and just presenting them exactly as they are; their truth is so important in telling the story, as any good photograph should know.
I picked up my first camera when I was 14. A cheap point and shoot I bought myself off Ebay, but as the Myspace queen of my day, it might as well have been a $5000 SLR. I loved that little thing, back when digital cameras were really taking off. I took photos of everything, it never left my side with back up double As in my pocket I was a girl on a mission, I wish I still had those old albums. I decided to take my interest in digital art and take a Graphic Design course in high school. When I applied myself, I was pretty decent, but any excuse I had to take the schools cameras out for a spin I took, it’s hard to keep passion bridled in a teenager. I never would have guessed then I would be photographing people’s deceased children 10 years later. I never would have guessed I would even know what this world is, but we never guess this is the path for us do we?
So why photos? Why would anyone want to document such sadness? Photos do more than just capture a moment in time, they validate your grief. I didn’t just “lose a baby”, my child died, this is their name, look at her daddy’s cheeks and her grandmothers hair. It serves as a piece of history that ties the branches of your family’s tree, once family, always a family. Photos help you remember and parents don’t want to forget a thing, our mind has a tendency to fade over time. A photo is forever. Every parent is proud of their child, perhaps this includes presenting them to everyone, showing their other children, extended family. Every baby deserves celebrated. This is still your baby and there is beauty in their wake. With the birth and inevitable passing of my daughter these facts became so clear to me, I can’t imagine not having her photos around me to soothe the ache of her absence.
The first family I served as a bereavement photographer was a beautiful Amish family. Not your typical clients, as the Amish do not allow themselves to be photographed. They believe that photos can invade their privacy, can cause pride, and violates Exodus 20:4: “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.” So, this was a big deal I was even asked to be there. On top of this, I was barely a year and a half from my loss, and they were delivering at the same hospital I had my daughter. Everything was the same, same smells, same bed spreads, same awful purple leaf on the door, but I have the camera, and they have the baby with Anencephaly… so here I go.
Baby Amya was gorgeous, they always are. I remember every single name of the babies I meet because to me, they’re all my daughter. Bless this family and their patience with me, I was so nervous. I fumbled with my words, I struggled to find my light, the angles were all wrong, but I pushed through the pounding in my ears and willed myself to breathe. This is all you get, one shot, this is all they will ever have of their precious baby, I can’t mess this up. I know I’m creating their most prized possessions, that’s some pressure. But we made it, and the images produced oozed all the love in the world for this tiny little girl. When I finally left I sobbed the entire way home, how on earth am I going to keep doing this? What did I sign up for? How can my heart take on all this tragedy? But it did, it still does.
Addison has always had a way of keeping me grounded, her non-profit is no different. When I’m asked how I could possibly go into these rooms again and again replaying my biggest heartbreak, I always answer the same. I’m working. I’m there for one thing, I have a job, and I put myself in the back of my head and I look at this family in front of me, and my goal is clear. Honor this baby, show them loving this baby, crying over this baby, treating them like any other baby is normal. I’m doing more than just taking a photo, I’m letting them know it’s okay, whatever it is, it’s okay. There’s this unspeakable language, this trust from loss parent to loss parent, that’s what I work from. Watching my families become visibly more at ease as I work with them is probably the most satisfying part of this work. Normalizing grief, especially in the hours it first unfolds is the greatest gift I can give them.
I’ve grown to enjoy this work, in the strange way only a loss Mom can I think. I enjoy finding the little details of each baby that their parents will cherish. I love holding them and dressing them, helping the nurses get their prints. Teaching their parents how to handle them, bathe them, break down fear with comradery. I love talking to their parents about their children. I ask so many questions, I want to know their baby’s story. I want to fully immerse myself in these moments with them, as if my heart could reach out to theirs and say, “you are not alone, your baby matters.”
I am always astounded by the courage my families show, and yes, they’re mine. I’ve adopted them all as my own, I love them so much. To allow me, a stranger in the most vulnerable moments of your life speaks volumes about your personal strength, I am always so humbled and honored to be be there. I just adore them, the amount of healing I’ve gotten from their babies is beyond anything I’ve tried so far, and trust me, I’ve done it all. I always joke Addison’s Army is cheaper than therapy, but just barely. I truly believe I’ve unwillingly stumbled onto my calling. I can’t imagine where I’d be if families hadn’t allowed me to continue this sacred work. I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for letting me be part of your journey, thank you for letting me meet your precious babies, they all live forever in my heart.
I’m more than a girl with a camera, I’m a friend, a loss Mom, and I’ll stand on the front lines with you hand and hand unshaken by death and despair. We will walk this path together and refuse to let their lives be forgotten. It may not seem this way, especially right now, but we are warriors you and I, for our babies we fight and we will thrive, I promise.
To learn more about Jessica or inquire about free photography and retouching services, reach out to: https://www.facebook.com/armyaddisonquinn
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Jessica, this article is written beautifully and brings me back to the day that my firstborn, my little girl was born still this April.
I didn’t want pictures before I birthed her, I said absolutely not, but once I saw her gorgeous face everything changed.
I had a natural childbirth, but even minus the drugs, I still only have flashes of that day after she was born. I remember our photographer was pregnant (very, very pregnant) and before she came in she asked if we would rather have someone else take pictures. I said I didn’t mind if she didn’t.
She took our photographs silently and had one printed out and the disc ready for us by the time we reached Antepartum.
I don’t remember much from that day, the day we said both hello and goodbye to our daughter but with the beautiful pictures she gifted us I will never forget Faeryn’s face, the curve of her little, perfect back. Those pictures prove she was real and she did exist. They are my link to my little girl.
From one bereaved mother to another, thank you Jessica for giving yourself, your time, and giving something priceless to other families. ❤️