Photos, Obituaries and Honoring Loved Ones

Tom Oswald

While working in St. Louis this week, photos of Tom Oswald were projected on the large screens in the front of the room. Seeing the images larger than life-size made me pause for a second as I flashed back to the day I tripped the shutter and captured the image. I remember the weather, the conversations, the co-workers with me and the relief that I caught a usable portrait after driving three hours.

All the memories and the photograph are much more important now that Tom is no longer with us. Tom passed suddenly in June, and his legacy is being honored through the inaugural Tom Oswald Legacy Award.

Tears filled my eyes as the screen faded to black, as other memories of Tom flooded in. His colleagues in the soybean industry sorely miss his analytical thinking, his joy of music, his passion for conservation and his positive attitude.

Unfortunately, Tom’s is one of many portraits I’ve taken to be later used for their obituary and memorial of life. It is my utmost honor to have family members select one of the photos to honor their loved ones. As a photographer, it changes the way I look at photos, making me cherish the fleeting moments with people that much more.

For nearly two decades, I’ve held onto a handwritten note from a woman that included a clipping of an obituary for Dan Backer. The obituary featured my photo of Dan with his beloved service dog Jesse. Bill Shipley often told me how meaningful it was that I stopped (by chance) to take pictures of a welder I spotted on the side of the road. Years later, the photos were used at the welder’s memorial and sadly, we lost Bill a short time after that.

Dan and Jesse

I thrive on the moments when my eye, camera, hand, heart and subject come together to make an image. Those moments are even more meaningful when family members cherish the pictures after losing a loved one.

If I were to have a “favorite” obituary photo I’ve taken, it would have to be of my dad. Little did I know that a motorcycle trip that provided time to bond after years of being at college and work would be weeks away from his death. I snapped the photo below to capture the open road and the fun I was having. My dad’s patented wave and smile, frozen in time, is a memory I’ve held onto and can look back on now decades later. I will always be thankful that I carried my camera with me that day and snapped that photo.

I’m sure there will be others in the future. We all know the saying that there are only two things guaranteed in life… I’ll keep taking photos with the thought that each one could be my last or the subject’s last. Strangely, it pushes me to do the best I can. I’m honored to capture a small part of their life and how I can help their loved ones preserve their memories.