06/26/2026
Twenty years ago, my father died. His funeral brought together countless people whose lives he’d touched.
I remember almost none of it.
Not who traveled to be there. Not the faces of the people who gave speeches. And not even what the chapel looked like.
Grief blurs memories and erases details. That’s just what it does.
That’s why I became a funeral photographer.
I can’t get my father’s funeral back. But I can make sure other families don’t lose those memories.
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