The Studio

Today has been a very long day of packing, hauling, and clearing out the studio. It is hard not to question at times if I am making the right decision with giving up the building. As I deal with each item, each photograph, each piece of furniture that was specifically chosen for a place and a purpose…sometimes waiting months to find the perfect piece that I had envisioned, it is bittersweet to say the least. Everything has a memory attached to it, and almost always a good one. It is crazy how much you can accumulate in such a large space over the course of 2 years…and equally as crazy how all of it can be cleared out in just a couple of days.

I’m not sure if it’s because my overall mindset is still under a large storm cloud of loss, or if it’s just the exhaustion of the big move, but I am continually needing to remind myself that not working out of a building does not take away my ability to take photographs, or my desire to. It does not take away all of the memories, the clients, and the people. It does not make me “less legit” or all of the other thoughts that have been running through my mind.

I couldn’t help but find the irony in the process of moving out and how it compared so closely to the process of my grief lately. The building started out as full, warm, safe, and comfortable…then shocking news of change, followed by the mess that ensues when packing begins and it’s a complete disaster, then, as it is now, almost completely empty.

And yet, despite the questions and sadness, there is something to be said about the weight that is lifted with the end of such a large time and financial responsibility. Although I remember the wonderful things, I also remember the editing sessions that lasted far into the late hours of the night, missing dinners, time, and even “goodnights” with Kevin. I remember the stress of such a heavy workload, coming home to empty cupboards, full laundry baskets, and messy counter tops. It will be nice, and fulfilling, to shift the focus of care and love of the business/building…into my home and family more than I’ve ever had time for.

I feel myself getting stronger as the days go by. I still have some very dark, haunting moments and some pretty rough nights…but overall, I am healing. I have this vivid memory of being in the hospital for labor and delivery. We were finally admitted, changed, and checked in. Explained what would happen and were all “set up” for what was to come. The doctors administered the medicine to induce labor, shot a syringe of pain medicine through my iv, and then left the room. The minute the door shut was one of the first moments Kevin and I had been alone since hearing our life altering news. I felt a rush of the pain meds course through my whole body, relaxing every limb and muscle…and my mind…for the first time in hours. My mind went blank and I could finally breathe again…large deep breathes as if they were my first. That is the moment that I lost it as Kevin held me close, neither of knowing what we could possibly say in that moment. I sobbed harder, longer, and more uninhibited than I ever have in my life…and the release felt good.    

Every day since then, I have longed for the feeling of release similar to that…without the tears of course. I can feel that the grief has taken a toll on me physically with the tightness in my joints, muscles, and mind …as a result of attempting to “hold it together.”

But there is beauty to be found in emptiness…which is a need to be “refilled” again. I seek fresh starts and new beginnings with our lives and goals and perspectives. Every day is a new day, and life goes on.  I will never forget holding my sleeping angel in my arms with my heart shattering into so many pieces, I think I could hear it breaking. But now, it drives me to live a life so much richer, kinder, and fuller than I ever thought of or desired for. I have the ability, and the choice to do so. And if our precious daughter cannot share in the wonder of life’s greatest blessings…I will try to live in a way that can do so for the both of us, while holding onto the hope that a baby we so desperately long for, is still in God’s plan for us.

And just as my emptiness will someday be filled again…so will the building in which I used as a key element in progressing my career. The building will now become a bakery, and specialty cake shop, run by some wonderful people who have had a rough road themselves in getting to where they are now.

We all have a story, but it is up to us how the story ends.