This Father’s Day marked a first I never wanted to face.
It was my first Father’s Day without my dad. And, as if that wasn’t already heavy enough, it also marked exactly three months since he went to be with Jesus.
When I realized those two days fell together, I was devastated. I cried myself to sleep that night, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Grief has a way of sneaking up on you, even when you think you’re doing okay. And that realization shattered me.
But when the morning came, something in me shifted.
Maybe, just maybe, God aligned the dates on purpose. Not to make it harder, but to carry me through it differently. Instead of two separate painful milestones… He gave me one day to feel it deeply. One day where the ache is a little sharper, but so is the comfort of His presence. I’ve started to believe that even in grief, God is intentional.
A few days before Father’s Day, I returned to a place that holds deep meaning for my family: a sweet little farm where I took photos of my dad and my son and nephew (twice). I brought along that framed photo, his boots, and his cowboy hat…planning to take pictures of them as a quiet tribute. In my heart, it felt like one more photo session I could do for him.
But then, the owner’s daughter gently encouraged me to step in front of the camera too. I hesitated at first—this wasn’t supposed to be about me but then I thought about how much my dad would’ve loved seeing me in his hat. So I took a deep breath and said yes.
Looking at the photos now, I see God’s hand all over it.
In the soft nudge to take them.
In the golden light that fell just right.
In the way my heart settled while holding the things he once held.
And on the exact three-month mark of his heart attack, I got a tattoo in his honor; his signature, “Love, Dad,” taken from one of my birthday cards. It’s something I now carry with me always. A reminder that his love didn’t end with his passing. It’s still written on my life in so many ways.
Grief is heavy, but His grace is steady.
And love like this, between a daughter and her dad, it doesn’t end.
It shifts. It deepens. It finds new ways to show up.
This session, one I never planned to be in, became one of the most meaningful I’ve ever done. A quiet way to honor my dad, to hold space for my grief, and to remember that God sometimes meets us in the most unexpected places.
I don’t know what everyone else’s grief looks like. I just know mine has taken a hundred different shapes and on this day, it looked like boots, a cowboy hat, and a daughter wearing her dad’s smile.
If you’re a fellow photographer or someone grieving in the Plant City, Lakeland, or Tampa area and want to find a way to honor your loved ones through images, I’m here. Sometimes the most healing sessions are the ones we didn’t plan to be in.
Thanks for holding space with me.
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