maternity, Lompoc, babies, flowers, sunset, wings, vans, 2016
Dawn Kincade
Waiting for our boy....

Whitney and Kevin are awaiting the birth of their first child.

Waiting for our boy....

Parenting

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Going Back to Go Forward

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October has been a whirlwind of emotions, filled with celebrations and a breathtaking trip to experience the fall colors. In addition, I found myself diving back into facilitating Grief Recovery, both with an in-person group and through several one-on-one sessions via Zoom. Each time I begin these groups, I feel my heart opening up to the reality that I still have work to do surrounding grief and loss. It’s a universal experience; we’re all grievers in our own right, even if we haven't fully acknowledged it.

As I help others navigate their grief journeys, I realize I must examine myself more deeply. Reflecting on this, I am acutely aware that life moves on relentlessly. I'm pushed forward, yet I can't help but look back and address those unfinished emotional pieces. We all experience a shared journey, and it’s perfectly okay to embrace that healing is a continual process that takes time.

During my recent visit to New York, I had the chance to return to my old neighborhood, which I had not seen in over 50 years. Having moved away in 1971, I was struck by how much had changed; in many ways, I barely recognized it. This return also confronted me with a part of myself that I had neglected or tried to silence, reminding me of the importance of embracing every aspect of who we are as we navigate our lives.

So I enter into November having all the feels as it is particularly poignant for me, as I acknowledge that this week marks the eighth anniversary of Evan’s accident and his incredible act of giving his organs to save several lives. I’m so proud of Evan for his sacrifice. That thought resonates profoundly in my heart, especially as I contemplate my own possible need for a kidney in the near future. I’m grateful to be able to process my feelings with tools I’ve acquired through my training in the Grief Recovery Method and as I help others. Every time I’m allowed to help others, I, too, am helping myself.

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A Zookeeper of Introverts

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Today would have been your 33rd trip around the sun. I’m not going to lie; I’m sad you aren’t here. I’m sorry that you are missing all the things. Part of the process of the completion of our relationship with Grief Recovery is talking through our hopes, dreams, and expectations, and I’m grateful to have processed those things. Still, those feelings can surface on days like today, and I must face the grief of you not being here. I’ve learned a lot over the last two years, and I often feel like a broken record when sharing about Grief Recovery. I share because I know of loss, and everyone is walking out their losses individually. I can listen and be a heart with ears. I’m also grateful to have processed such a painful loss as Evan’s death. Pain does not equal love. Carrying painful feelings is not how love carries on. Sweet memories and funny stories, along with the love of family and friends, being truthful about what hurts, and not running away from painful feelings by doing things that help me not feel them. (overeating, drinking, shopping, and isolation) I’ve done that too long, which is part of the problem. So, at this moment, I am heartbroken, and I miss you. There is a hollow place in our family because you are not here. I can’t pretend it’s not there; part of that reality’s truth is to say it. Happy Birthday to you! You’re missed every day, especially at this time of year.

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Giving my feelings a voice.

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November's cool, crisp air brings a melancholy of watching the warmth of summer cool into fall. October is always packed with birthdays and days of Indian summer. Alex and I share a birthday month, and it's always endearing for us to have that thing we share. Some of my favorite people share a birthday month with me, and I love that my birthday comes at the beginning of the month so that my party-happy Enneagram Seven can have an entire month of fun. But all the fun must make way for other feelings, even the hard ones.

Over the last year or so, I've done a lot of grief work. Grief work is hard. It brings with it truth and reality. For me, that fact could not be more accurate than November. Although I've done significant work with grief and have had the privilege of helping others, which in turn has helped me, November is a melancholy month for me. Completing losses means delivering those communications that in your relationship you wish had been different, better, or more, and your hopes, dreams, and expectations for your relationship. The truth in those communications is where pain lives. Last year, I worked on completing those communications with Evan, and in turn, I felt that the poetry slam would not be happening and that it had extinguished its lifespan. Writing that now feels different than it did at the time. For me, it felt like a betrayal to Evan. As if we were leaving him behind, I may need to write a P.S. to him about it as I write this. Because it may have been that what I was leaving behind was the pain. Some of that became evident the year before, but almost everyone was trying to help me process my loss and came to rally around me and our family.

So that brings us to today. November 2023. Seven years after Evan's death. It is a lifetime, yet a moment, and I'm sitting with my feelings about this and unsure how to articulate my heart. I've felt a lot these last seven years, and still, as this month approaches, the melancholy moves in, and I sit with it. No one feels like I do about Evan, which is okay. Everyone experienced him differently, and they are experiencing that loss at 100%. Milestones happen daily with us as a family and with his friends. I feel those losses and have learned to process them independently and through a lens of gratitude that I get to share those milestones with others who loved Evan, too. Time does not heal. Time and correct actions heal. Nothing can replace my losses. Keeping busy doesn't heal my loss. These are myths that I've been taught throughout a lifetime, and they haven't helped. Part of the process of understanding is sitting with those feelings and giving those feelings and ponderings a voice, and in doing that, I honor Evan's memory and the short life he lived. I love and miss you, son.

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My Real Highlight Reel...My Word for 2023

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The end of the year always brings highlights from the year we're leaving with bright hopes for the year ahead. I always love to see what those highlights look like and when I get ready to do mine, I'm always disappointed by what the algorithm chose for my "highlights." It's always difficult for an app to know what made my day and what got a lot of likes. In my economy, likes don't always equate to making my heart happy.

As I closed out the year, my word for 2022 was the noun version of Resolve-firm determination to do something. Similar words to resolve are braveness~courage~spunk~steadfastness~persistence

I'm looking back fondly because this word was the very essence of my year. I was persistent in understanding grief and all of the things that grief has taught me. I spent the year taking the information I've learned over several years of loss, pursuing what I've gleaned, and getting the training with the grief recovery method that has me moving into the next thing God has for me.

I've decided on my word for 2023 and just ordered my one little word piece.

My Word for 2023 is Inspire - to influence or impel, to give inspiration to, to produce or arouse (a feeling, thought, etc.). Other similar words are educate-enrich-enlighten-transform-nurture. As I move into 2023 with newfound information on grief and loss, I hope to Inspire others to feel their feelings and to process and complete their losses. I’m wondering…what is your word for 2023?? Happy New Year!!

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Just a few of the highlights of 2019

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I often wonder what the highlights look like when you're a photographer. Is it the number of clients you had? or is it by how you've improved over the previous year? Maybe it is the number of followers you've acquired, and yet for some, it may be the amount of money you made. My highlights are the ones that make me smile on days when I’m unsure if there is a smile left in me. They are the highlights that bring back the sights, sounds, and smells of that moment.

We live in an age now, where everyone is a "photographer." Just one click gives you the ability to capture a moment. So this grouping of photos is my highlight reel. The images that helped me tell the story of 2019 for me. I captured a lot of babies and mommas. I saw families grow, and I saw young adults enter onto the pathway of adulthood. I enjoyed events and traveled hither and yon, but in all of that, I found a deep-rooted passion for telling the stories of life. I'm grateful for that and I hope you'll join me as I venture into 2020 with an ever-increasing passion and an ever-growing desire to communicate through photographs.

The several photos in this gallery I didn’t take but I am in them which is rare for those who are behind the camera. The last photo is the ever-present reminder that Evan is part of every highlight reel and that we miss him EVERY SINGLE DAY!

Happiest of New Year as we move into the next decade!

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Lane Andrew Boicelli 3/12/19

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Sometimes you never think that the things you hope for will happen. My friend, Cathy and I have always talked about photography as it is a common passion we both have. Back when I started she and I would joke that if she ever had another baby I wanted to be right in the middle of her birth experience with my camera ready. It of course was a joke but little did I know that our joking would come to pass with her getting pregnant. That I would be prepared in my photography journey to document the birth. So as the count down began I had been prepared for the call since the end of February. Checking in once a week and watching her progress. So when I checked in earlier this week I was excited that she was preparing to be induced if progress had stalled. I checked in with her at 9am on Tuesday and they had just checked-in at Sutter-Roseville. She said she would check back with me in 30 minutes. Inductions normally take some time so I waited to check back in about 10 am.

I got no response from her via text. When I finally got a hold of Brandon at 11:15am he informed me that the baby had already arrived. I had missed the birth…so I jumped in the car and headed to Roseville to capture the rest of the day. Lane is a sweet baby with blond hair and the sweetest disposition. He is a momma’s boy although he calms right down at the sound of his daddy’s voice. He was alert and never once took his eyes off Cathy. He has a big brother, who was cautious at first but before too long was wanting to hold him and a big sister who I believe will nurture and care for him in ways only a big sister can. Lane will have a host of family and friends that will love and care for him always and forever.

Welcome to the world Lane Andrew Boicelli. I am so thankful to celebrate your arrival with your family.

Creation has always been the thing that connects me to the Lord. Since starting to do birth photography it has always been my desire to capture the first sunrise and the first sunset on the day that a baby comes into the world. Sometimes it happens sometimes it doesn’t…God was faithful to provide the opportunity on the day that would be Lane’s birthday.

Righteousness will go before Him to prepare the way for His steps. Psalm 85:13

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For now that is enough...

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I’ve been away from my blog since before Christmas. Most days are filled with job responsibilities and regular household chores there is something in me that seems different not all together me. I keep thinking that things will get back to how they always were. That life as I’ve known it good or bad will return, and all will feel normal. Then I realize my life isn’t normal. It will never look like it did. My life will never have Evan in the spaces he usually occupied. EVER. I go back to those spaces hoping to find him…to sense his presence. It’s hard to describe to people how your mind works after your child has gone. I look at photos and think to myself it feels like he is here. But there is such an emptiness. There is such emptiness in the spaces he once inhabited. There is an emptiness in the world since he left. My words feel hollow…without real form or bones to help them take shape. I was driving this morning, and I had this feeling of everything continues, but yet my heart wants to go backward. I want to recapture what once was and bring it into the future to live with me here. I want Evan to come home. I’m learning to navigate the parts of me that are healing and the parts that are gaping wounds. I’m trying to find and listen to my voice and yet I want to be a voice for my son too so that he is not forgotten. Saturday mark many anniversaries-it’s my Dad’s 2nd birthday in Heaven. It also is 822 days since Evan was taken off life support to give life to 5 others. As I've walked out my journey, I also realize many parents/siblings that are walking out the same feelings, anniversaries, the same emptiness, the same longing that our family has. I say this for understanding. That I can bring you along with me as a conscientious/thoughtful/ observer.

To be mindful that we miss our person(s). That we want to hear their name. That you can't stop our pain. (IT WILL BE FOREVER) That we're not stuck. We are living each moment of each day with a wound that is healing but will always be there for us. Even if you can't see it. That you can show us love by sharing stories about our person. We're doing our best, and sometimes that may not be enough. For now, my soul is healing along with the soul of our family, and that is enough.

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On this Day....One year ago

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Today November 9th, 2017 is the 365th day of not having you on the planet.  As I look back over the days leading up to this I'm amazed at how the Lord prepared me. Our community would spend days petitioning God for a miracle...to give you life but instead the miracle was that you would give life to others. That selfless act is so much a part of who you are and of the people that you associate with. I remember the hours and moments as they ticked away and we waited for them to come and take you to the operating room. They came to your room at 2:14am and I see so vividly all of us walking you to the door of the operating room and of us standing in a huddled clump, Dad, Alex and I.... with all of our friends watching us watching you. What I remember the most is the silence. Almost as if at that moment the world had forgotten it's voice. A silent cry. Not a sound was made. All I could hear were our tears. We asked Dr. Gaborko if he would go with you...as a prayer covering and a witness that you would be watched over. I can honestly say that knowing he was going in with you gave us peace.  Jeff's kindness to us was a selfless act and one we can never repay. The other thing I remember is looking back at all of the people who stayed till the end and seeing their faces. Such brokenness. So many tears. I shall not forget those moments...never ever. Letting you go was so, so hard. Even to write this brings great big tears.

Oh, how we miss you. The thing that is hardest is your voice. I can't hear it. Your ridiculous laughter is silent. Your words live on only to be read in a voice that is not yours. Most days we do what we have always done. We wake up, drink coffee, go to work, come home, eat, go to bed. Time has marched on and the seasons have changed and the world has not stopped. We have not stopped. I'm one year older, we still wonder about the holidays and what we will do, we still talk about life and truly most days I still feel your presence. Maybe it's the familiar things that make you seem close...my daily journeys to Peet's where I keep expecting you in the afternoon to come up behind me and say "Hey! Mom!"...maybe it's driving by Best Buy and thinking of all the time you spent there and the holidays you missed because of the craziness of the seasons...maybe it's the train at the Nut Tree that for years we spent EVERY WEEKEND during your train faze as a young child...maybe it's the sound of your friends at our house to commemorate a birthday or to just play a card game...or maybe it's what I see through my lens that brings me into close proximity to your presence...the more familiar the location the closer you are to me....I'm learning to look for the things that the Lord is showing me because that's where you are....with that said you're missed...every day by us. 

I know you would be proud of us for putting one foot in front of the other....for pressing forward. Looking back only to remember with fondness and a little bit of angst. Today we will celebrate you with the thing you loved most....A Poetry Slam! to honor you and to keep a bit of who you are alive in our hearts. To celebrate a life lived and loved well and one that gave the gift of life to others.