I never thought one shoot could completely reshape my perspective as a photographer, but this one did. For a long time, I couldn't even bring myself to share these images because of how deeply I held them in my heart.
My sweet friend Alyssa and I met years ago across the ocean when our families were both stationed in Japan. We were younger then, freshly married, and figuring out life together. Even then, her joy was infectious, her faith was unwavering, and her love for her children was fierce.
Years later—and a few Air Force assignments down the road—Alyssa was diagnosed with breast cancer. As I followed her journey, God put it firmly on my heart to reach out and offer a family session while I was traveling near her base in Arizona.
As we began planning, the weight of what we were capturing truly set in.
"I Don’t Want to Look Sick"
At the time, Alyssa was enduring grueling chemo and radiation. She was navigating hair loss and worried about her skin looking burned and pale from treatment. Above all, she wanted her children to have photos of their mother without the visible toll of cancer stealing the focus.
Up until that point, advanced skin-tone correction and deep retouching weren't areas I had fully mastered. But suddenly, I was on a mission. I reached out to a trusted photography mentor, Meg Loeks—a master of color and a mother whose own son fought leukemia. She generously shared targeted editing techniques and guided us on wardrobe choices that brought warmth and life back into Alyssa’s complexion. Together, we ensured her kids would see their vibrant mom, not her illness.
Since that day, getting skin tones right has become non-negotiable in my work. Whether handling temporary blemishes, bruises, or harsh color casts, I ensure those fleeting imperfections don't take permanent residence in your family's heirloom albums.
"I Want to Remember How It Felt"
It’s easy for photographers to get caught up in technicalities like lighting and composition—just as it’s easy for parents to worry about how they look on camera. But this session taught me to slow down and honor the small, meaningful details.
A photo session should be a core memory in itself—filled with silly jokes, quiet cuddles, and genuine connection. It should feel like home.
One of my absolute favorite images from that day captured a moment of complete stillness. I asked the kids to climb into Alyssa's arms, close their eyes, and simply listen: Remember how it feels to be held by Mom. Listen to her heartbeat, breathe in her scent, feel her fingers running through your hair.
Even now, the tears flow easily whenever I look back at that photograph.
"I Want the Photos"
The night before our scheduled shoot, Alyssa ended up in the emergency room. When I asked if we should reschedule, her answer was an immediate no. She wanted these photos, and she was determined to capture them while she had the strength. Her children were her entire purpose, and she pushed through incredible exhaustion to give them this gift.
Her determination forever changed how I step in front of the camera with my own children. It isn't always convenient, and I don't always feel photo-ready, but we aren't promised tomorrow. My kids deserve to have memories captured with me, reflecting the love that fills our home.
My heart broke when Alyssa passed away just a couple of months later. She was a pillar of strength who poured every ounce of her love and faith into her family until the very end. Her legacy as a mother lives on, and her story continues to shape every single frame I capture today.
