02/07/2026
Twenty one years ago today, I made a mistake that I can’t fix.
I married the love of my life, best decision ever, but the slightly absurd truth is, that I’m the wedding photographer without wedding photos.
I have exactly one photograph of Daniel and I together from our wedding day. One.
I wasn’t a wedding photographer back then, so I had absolutely no idea what those photographs would come to mean over time, because when you’re in it you think you’ll remember everything, and you do remember so much, but memories fade in ways photographs never do.
I don’t have a photograph with my dad from my wedding day, and he has since passed away. I don’t have one with my mom, and Daniel and I don’t have a photo together with our little boy Aaron, who was just shy of one years old that day, and is somehow 22 now.
It’s strange what time teaches you.
When you’re planning a wedding, it’s easy to think you’ll remember the laughter, the hugs, the people who filled the room and the way your parents looked at you, but memory has a way of softening around the edges while photographs quietly stay exactly as they were.
This is why I’m so passionate about what I do.
I don’t want my couples to be me. I want them to have the photograph with their mom, their dad, their grandparents, their friends, their kids and all the people who made that day what it was, because I’ve learned the hard way that these photographs don’t become less valuable over time.
They become priceless.
Twenty one years later, that one image means more to me than I ever could have imagined, not because it’s technically great or particularly artistic, but because it proves we were there.
These aren’t just wedding photographs.
They’re family history.
