I typically don’t take photos of newborns it’s simply not my preference. Two days ago, a woman asked me to photograph her 8 -week- old nephew. He had just come out of the hospital, and she was uncertain about how long he had remaining. A part of me responded affirmatively.
Aiden was born with Microcephaly, a condition that leads to abnormal smallness in the brain and head development. He was not anticipated to make it through birth, but he emerged resilient and had been doing exactly that for eight vigorous weeks.
I didn’t expect him to be so tiny and perfect. When his mother brought him in, I became emotional not out of sadness, but from sheer happiness. His gray eyes opened for a brief moment, and his small hands seemed to hold a lifetime of tales.
Before I even grabbed my camera, I discovered that I was just adoring him. His presence enchanted you.
His family was overflowing with affection. His grandfather wept softly while acceptance him. His parents beamed with pride while sharing stories of their small fighter. Ricky’s father remarked, “He was expected to be stillborn, but he emerged crying and he has been battling ever since.” I muffled tears while his mother, Kayla, smiled through each moment, even the toughest ones.
While heading home, I wept. I offered a prayer. I stressed over each picture, re-editing the entire collection 272 photos repeatedly until I had to leave at 2 a.m., wishing they turned out flawless.
This morning, I received a message: Aiden was gone. I was disconsolate. I felt the urge to shout, to weep, to act as if it wasn’t real. However, primarily
