There are moments when I capture a photograph and immediately know who I want to share it with.

A beautiful sunset.

A deer standing quietly at the edge of a field.
An eagle perched in a tree.

A photograph that turned out exactly the way I envisioned it.

For years, my first thought was often, I can’t wait to show Dad.

He loved seeing my photographs. Not because he was a photography expert, but because he loved seeing the world through my eyes.

We would talk about where I found a particular bird, what time of day I took the photo, how close I was able to get, or what was happening just outside the frame. Sometimes the conversation lasted five minutes. Sometimes much longer. But every photo seemed to become a story we could share.

One year after losing him, I still catch myself thinking those same thoughts.
I can’t wait to show Dad this one.

Then, for just a moment, I forget.

And then I remember.

What I miss isn’t only sharing the photographs themselves. I miss the excitement of knowing someone was waiting to see them. I miss the phone calls. I miss hearing his reaction. I miss having someone who took genuine joy in something that brought me joy.

As I’ve reflected over the past year, I’ve realized that photographs are about so much more than the images themselves. The pictures we take often become intertwined with the people we share them with. They spark conversations, tell stories, and create connections. Sometimes the memory attached to a photograph isn’t just what was captured in the frame—it’s the conversation that happened afterward, the smile it brought to someone’s face, or the excitement of sharing a moment with someone you love.

We often think of photographs as a way to preserve memories, but they also help us build relationships while we’re making those memories. They give us reasons to call, to visit, to reminisce, and to connect. Looking back, some of my favorite photographs aren’t necessarily my best work. They’re the ones that remind me of a conversation with my dad, a story he told, or the happiness he found in seeing something that mattered to me.

Today marks one year since my dad passed away. There are countless things I miss, but one of the unexpected ones is having someone who was always eager to see what I captured next.

Someone who celebrated the little things with me.

Someone who wanted to hear the story behind the photo.

Someone who reminded me that the joy isn’t always in the photograph itself, but in sharing it with the people we love.

So I keep taking the photographs.

I keep looking for sunsets, wildlife, and moments worth remembering.

I keep finding beauty in the world around me.

And every now and then, when I capture something special, I still find myself thinking,

“Dad would have loved this one.”