Happy Tears

I have a bit of professional disdain for the sunrise/sunset photo, truth be told, but there was Kim Harrison, looking like a greeting card as the sun cleared the horizon that Easter morning. I assumed she was with the church congregation I was covering. After she had her moment by the water, I joined her as she walked up the dunes and gave her my photographer spiel - here to cover the service, could I get your name, etc. "Oh, I'm not with the church, but I knew they were doing this." Figured she needed to be around their positive energy. Kim laughed and said when things got too religious, she moved down to the shore break by herself, to do her Buddhist thing. 

Kim held her arms out to the Atlantic for a long moment, like she was embracing it. She picked this morning of rebirth and resurrection to say goodbye to the sea, as she is going on a cross-country sojourn for the next year. She's leaving Virginia Beach after 25 years, her son's ashes in tow. A local surfer, he died 3 years ago, suddenly. Kim is heading to all those places they never got to see, hoping to end in CA where she plans on giving away her son's surfboard and rash guard, a chapter closed. As we parted ways, I wished her safe travels. Her eyes welled up as she turned her back to the waves. "These are happy tears. I'm going on a trip with my son." 

A card from Duncan

Today I packed up Christmas.

I keep cards from years past, picture cards from friends and family, the really beautiful ones, sometimes the ones from the very old, thinking it may be the last time I receive their signature. Boxed in the attic with all the decorations, I never look at them during the unpacking, no time in that frenzy. Today, as I was adding a few from this year, I took time to sit down and pour over what I have squirreled away in that cloudy ziplock bag. I came to this card, almost the last one, and as I picked it up, wondered why I had kept it. Kinda flimsy and nondescript. I opened it, saw the shaky handwriting, and smiled. 

It was from Duncan, a man I photographed for several years while documenting his life journey until his death in 2012. We became friends, close in that unique way of subject and journalist who spend much time together. Duncan was 65 and six months sober when I started following him, after a lifetime of drugs, alcohol, homelessness, abuse, insanity. He was the menace who took a piss on a table in the library when asked to leave at closing time, out of his mind, with no where to go. A drunk who soiled himself, spent time in jails all over the country, and could extract a high from Preparation H. Against any possibility of turning it around, Duncan did, with help of AA, unconditional support, medication, and an unshakable belief in the divine. He had four glorious years of sobriety, co-founded a non-profit to aid the homeless, and blossomed into one of the most caring, charismatic, spiritual beings I have ever met. 

In this season of resolutions and new beginnings, two things come to mind. Profound change, however elusive, is possible. Please know you really can drop those few pounds, carve out more time for family, quit that bad habit. The other - that poor soul flying a sign at the intersection who looks like a piece of human wreckage, well, they may be any number of things who has made any number of horrible choices. Sexual violence, neglect, or unspeakable abuse may be in their past, or present. Please remember he or she has the potential to be a Duncan, and that you would be humbled if they called you sister. Happy new year, friends.