Memorials and funerals
September23200709:20 AM
Memorials and
funerals we attend are always emotional
events, always painful to photograph in some shape or form. Like last
Friday before Grandview High School's homecoming football game when a
memorial to fallen soldier Matt Emerson reminded everyone that sometimes
people don't come home from wars. Emerson died in the service of his
country, and his family, friends and community members honored his
memory on the field where only a few years before he had played
football.
It's always difficult to remain emotionally detached in these
situations, but that's what we have to do. We have to do our jobs and
create photos that document the event and tell our readers the story.
We have to point our cameras on people who might not be too
enthusiastic about being photographed at that moment, and take our
photos. We have to walk up to them afterward and ask them their
names. It really stinks. It's especially bad when the person being
honored seemed to me to be the kind of person I wish I had known, his
family the type of people I would like as neighbors. But I didn't let
myself get caught up in the moment, even when my gut turned as the
announcer called out Emerson's number and name, but instead of him
running onto the field, cheerleaders released balloons that I watched
float up, out, then beyond the stadium lights.
Afterward, as I walked back to the car, a woman thanked me for being
at the event. I told her, "You're very welcome," when really I felt
like it was I who should be thanking her and all the people there for
letting me attend. I put my gear in the back seat, turned and waved
back at her and I could feel it welling up. When I climbed in and
closed the door I realized what I already knew: I can only hold it
together for so long. It was a long ride back to the office.
events, always painful to photograph in some shape or form. Like last
Friday before Grandview High School's homecoming football game when a
memorial to fallen soldier Matt Emerson reminded everyone that sometimes
people don't come home from wars. Emerson died in the service of his
country, and his family, friends and community members honored his
memory on the field where only a few years before he had played
football.
It's always difficult to remain emotionally detached in these
situations, but that's what we have to do. We have to do our jobs and
create photos that document the event and tell our readers the story.
We have to point our cameras on people who might not be too
enthusiastic about being photographed at that moment, and take our
photos. We have to walk up to them afterward and ask them their
names. It really stinks. It's especially bad when the person being
honored seemed to me to be the kind of person I wish I had known, his
family the type of people I would like as neighbors. But I didn't let
myself get caught up in the moment, even when my gut turned as the
announcer called out Emerson's number and name, but instead of him
running onto the field, cheerleaders released balloons that I watched
float up, out, then beyond the stadium lights.
Afterward, as I walked back to the car, a woman thanked me for being
at the event. I told her, "You're very welcome," when really I felt
like it was I who should be thanking her and all the people there for
letting me attend. I put my gear in the back seat, turned and waved
back at her and I could feel it welling up. When I climbed in and
closed the door I realized what I already knew: I can only hold it
together for so long. It was a long ride back to the office.