Flying Home for Family, Searching for Moments to Capture.

In a few days, I’m headed home—well, to the place I consider home. California was my home for half my life, and I have some great memories there. My dad is sick, and while we have strong faith that he will recover, I still need to see him. I need to be there for him, to let him know he’s not alone.

I’m conflicted. I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to create content and capture photos—photography has been a part of me for most of my life. But I also don’t want this trip to be about me creating. I’m genuinely going to help my dad and support my family. Still, I can’t ignore that this is also an opportunity to document these moments with him.

I’m excited. I love to travel. But I’m also anxious. It isn’t easy to see my father like this. He has always been the strong figure in my life—the leader, the decision-maker, the one who made our lives better: mine, my sisters’, and my mom’s. Of course, my mother has been right there with him. She’s been his partner through all of life’s adventures. They’ve been together for almost 60 years. Maybe it’s actually her I’m most worried about. Dad has been her ‘ride or die’ for as long as I can remember, and life without him would be unimaginable—challenging, to say the least.

Circa 1981, with my Dad at what I think is Niagara Falls.

My travels usually revolve around creating imagery—of streets, surroundings, food, and landscapes. It’s a visual documentary of my life through stills, video postcards, and cinematic portraits of the places I’ve seen, the restaurants I’ve eaten at, and the people I’ve met. But this trip is different.

I’d love to create, but I also have to respect boundaries. My parents are very private—so am I. That’s why creating blogs and vlogs has been a journey for me. I usually hide behind the camera. Now, I find myself in front of it, talking to an audience I’ve never met, writing for people I’ll likely never know, with the real possibility that no one may be listening at all.

So, who am I creating for, in a hospital room or rehab center? Am I being selfish? Am I turning into one of those media types that sensationalize pain for views? Should I create it anyway, but instead of showing the actual images or video, cut away to old photos—memories that still speak?

I am a photographer, but my family comes first, as they always will. Respecting boundaries is paramount. I don’t need to document every personal moment. Or maybe I do—but just for us. For our family. Quiet reminders that life is fleeting and that these moments, however hard, are worth remembering.

And that’s the irony. I document life to show that I’m living it. But how can I prove I’m living in the moment if I’m always too busy trying to capture it?

Maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. I can document, but I also need to be. Not everything needs to be shared. Some things should be created just for us—for me and my family.