A Session I Will Never Forget
When they reached out, they told me upfront.
Jada had been diagnosed with cancer. She had lost a lot of weight. The vet had given her about a month. They wanted photos — while she was still there, still theirs, still part of the family in the way she had always been.
I know this family. I said yes immediately.
When I arrived and saw Jada, my first thought was that they had gotten a new dog.
She had changed that much.
The dog I remembered was full and strong. The dog standing in the yard that morning was thin and quiet, moving slowly, conserving everything she had left. It stopped me for just a second — that flash of not recognizing someone you know. And then it hit me all at once what I was really seeing, and why I was there.
We spent most of the session outside. The light was beautiful. Jada couldn't play — she didn't have that in her anymore — but she didn't need to. She just needed to be close to them, and they needed to be close to her.
Jamie and Noah kissed her and hugged her with the kind of tenderness that children have when they love something completely and without reservation. They didn't need to be told to be gentle. They already knew. Their parents held her and cuddled her the way you hold something you are not ready to let go of.
I stayed quiet and I followed the light and I tried to capture what was already happening between them — because what was happening between them was everything.
Jada passed away four days after our session.
Four days.
The family had been told she had a month. They had a month's worth of plans — more slow mornings in the yard, more time. And then they had four days.
I think about that a lot. I think about how close they came to waiting. To saying "we'll get around to it" or "she's still okay for now."
They didn't wait. And now they have something that cannot be recreated, cannot be replaced, and will matter more with every year that passes.
I tell every family I work with: you don't need a special occasion. You don't need a new baby or a milestone birthday or a reason that fits neatly into a caption.
Sometimes the reason is simply that things are changing. That someone you love is getting older. That a season of your family's life is quietly ending and you can feel it, even if you can't name it yet.
That is enough. That is more than enough.
If you have a pet who is aging, or a chapter of your life that feels like it's slipping by faster than you expected — please don't wait.
I serve families throughout Arlington Heights, Northbrook, Wilmette, and the Chicago North Shore. I would be honored to photograph yours.