#69. When Grief Softens: Photography, Presence, and a Dream Returned
Last June marked twelve years since my mother passed away. A quiet anniversary that finds its way into my days, even when I’m not expecting it. Over time, grief has changed. It no longer arrives with sharp edges or overwhelming waves. These days, I still feel her. Not in big, dramatic signs, but in gentle details: the way sunlight spills across the floor, the glint of dew on a leaf, or a song that plays. Grief hasn’t left. It has simply become part of how I see the world. It shapes the way I slow down, the way I notice, the way I photograph.
 
                                 
                    