A Moment of Grief
Death Isn't the End, It's the start of New Beginnings
Last Tuesday was my father’s goodbye.
He passed away peacefully, and though I had spent the last three months mentally preparing for that moment, nothing could prepare me for the weight of the shock and sadness that followed.
My world shifted. My dad is gone, I thought to myself.
But even in that moment of sorrow, my thoughts went to his freedom—freedom from pain, from suffering, and the joy of being reunited with his mother, father, brothers, and sisters.
That vision gave me comfort, even as I sat with the heaviness of loss.
The truth is, even the weight of my camera feels different now.
I’m sharing this moment of grief because it’s what I’m walking through.
The pain is real, and yet—so is the love.
And love, I believe, is the only way to begin healing.
This post is a reminder: even in the middle of life’s unforeseen circumstances, even while carrying heartbreak, we can still create beautiful things.
But we must also give ourselves permission to pause, to feel, and to grieve.
The Power of Presence in the Face of a Loss
These past few days, I’ve found myself swirling in doubt—too emotionally drained to complete even the simplest daily tasks or hold focus for more than a few minutes.
I decided to spend some time away. Resting. Recharging. Doing what I could to just be.
There’s so much work that has to be done when someone passes—funeral arrangements, cleaning up, giving away things that once held value but now carry a different kind of weight.
But in the middle of it all, I found something I didn’t expect: power.
The power of presence in the face of loss.
I kept reminding myself that if I stopped here—if I stayed in this moment too long—my father wouldn’t be proud. I could hear his voice in my head saying, “Son, you must keep going.”
I saw the look in my mother’s eyes—the sadness, the stress, the exhaustion of processing a love so deep now met with loss. I saw that pain, and I made a quiet promise to myself: I will rise. I will make sure my family is taken care of.
Saturday morning, I sprung out of bed and forced myself into my 30-minute workout. At first, I felt weak—powerless even. But the more I moved, the more strength I felt returning.
There was presence in that pain. There was healing in the movement.
This season is teaching me that presence—especially in hard times—isn’t about productivity.
It’s about feeling. It’s about awareness. It’s about honoring what is.
And in that, there is power.
Honoring Through Remembering
There are so many great memories I have with my dad—the good, the bad, and even the difficult.
But the one that sticks with me the most is his deep love for music and family.
Lately, my family has been such a blessing. Words can’t fully express how grateful I am for them.
Sitting down with my sister, my aunts, and uncles brought so much joy to my heart.
We shared stories. We laughed. We sang. We debated what songs should be added to his playlist.
And in that moment, I could feel him.
I know my dad is somewhere smiling down, sitting among us, having a good time in our company.
His love for music was special—truly unique.
His taste spanned everything from classical to the most eclectic sounds. His music library was unmatched. Honestly, I can’t think of a single album he didn’t have.
My dad played a huge role in shaping my own musical taste.
These days, I lean toward classic R&B, soul, jazz, and old-school hip-hop—because of him.
And now, whenever I listen to music, that’s when I feel closest to my dad.
He was my superhero. My role model.
Someone I will continue to honor through my photography and my personal journey.
Honoring through remembering gives grief a home.
It creates a safe space to feel.
To smile. To cry.
And to keep the memory alive.
Because love like that doesn’t die. It lives forever.
Give Yourself Permission to Grieve
As I’m writing this, I’m still learning how to give myself permission to grieve.
It’s not easy. Grief is uncomfortable. And truthfully, I’ve never been good at sitting in discomfort.
I admit—I’m a workaholic. Any time I feel pain, I throw myself into my work or some new endeavor. I push forward. I stay busy. But rarely—rarely—do I give myself the space to feel.
Grieving is part of the healing process. And it’s the part I always try to skip.
But the truth is: I’m human. And if you’re reading this—you are too.
You deserve the time to process. You deserve the time to cry. You deserve the time to sit and do nothing.
It pays off in the long run.
There’s no shortcut through grief. No hustle or habit that can bypass the ache of loss.
The only way is through.
And that’s what I’m choosing.
To feel. To pause. To honor.
To give myself permission to grieve.
Thank you for reading.
Grief is not linear. It doesn’t follow a script. But what I’ve learned is that love never really leaves—it echoes through the stories we tell, the memories we hold, and the life we continue to build in their honor.
If you’re in the middle of your own moment of grief, I see you. Take the time you need. Let others in. And don’t forget—you’re allowed to feel it all.
This journey is still unfolding for me, but I know I’m not alone. And neither are you.
With love,
Joseph
Hey Joseph, first of all, my condolences. It's nice that you can write about it so openly; that's a good sign of a healing process. We all go through these moments in life. As I am writing this, I am dealing with the loss of a good friend.
But nothing hurts more than the loss of a mother or a father. When I lost my mother, it took me 2 years to sort of heal from that. I learnt a lot, but all I can say is, Take your time; it's a process.
Best, Daniel