Pieces of Him
In December 2005, my father, mother, and husband chipped in and bought me my first "real" camera, the Nikon D70.
It was my father's idea. My father and I had our issues, but he was very supportive of my photography. He was genuinely excited for me.
It was because of the D70 that I got the attention of the advertising firm who was working on Nikon's new ad campaign. In August of 2006, right before I got pregnant with Willa, I was chosen to be one of the lucky few who was featured in the ad campaign and given Nikon's new camera, the D80.
Since then, I have had the luxury of having two great cameras
A few weeks ago someone very close to me called to ask me my advice-
Long story short- His wife is a makeup artist. His line of work has practically dried up since the recession hit. They are struggling to pay their bills. They have one child and another on the way. His wife works with a lot of models, actors, and musicians. He started to shoot some head shots for these people with his dinky point and shoot. He wanted to know if there was a decent camera he could get for cheap, so that he could perhaps actually make some money.
I gave him my camera.
In the weeks between me telling him I would give him the camera, and the time when I would actually see him in person to give him the camera, I started to have some anxiety.
I try very hard not to think about my father all the time. Maybe that's not the healthy thing to do, but it's what helps me deal. It's been two years since he died, and I'm losing pieces of him. If I let myself think about him too much then I lose sleep.
That camera is a piece of him. It is a symbol of his belief in me. And I never really thought about it until I was about to give it away.
As I was packing up the camera and it's supplies to give to its new owner, I felt like someone was sitting on my chest.
The time came for me to hand it over, and the minute I saw the look on his face, I was at peace.
As I watched him play with the camera, and shake his head in awe, I remembered what it felt like when I first held that camera. How unbelievably happy and excited I was. The potential that that camera stands for.
It is a gift to be able to make someone so happy. it is a gift to be able to give someone something they deserve.
My anxiety has completely faded and is now replaced by joy.
I hope my father felt the same joy when he gave me that camera.