When I think back, I realize my love of photography began at a very young age. I would always bring out photo albums and ask my mom about the pictures. Especially this one photo of my grandmother and I, as she passed away around my second birthday. However, she definitely lived in stories and that one picture. I was told how much she loved me and that she would always let me have the spoon after making cake batter, (against my mom's better judgement) which was often as she loved to bake. I was also at that annoying toddler phase and loved dropping things and my grandmother would always pick them up. I was told she loved dressing me up and bringing me to church to show me off. And that picture was the evidence.
Those stories and that picture always made me feel her love, even though I didn't have any real memories of her. My family made those recollections seem as real as memories. I believe it was in those moments that my love of pictures and stories were forged.
I'm sad that I no longer have that picture of my grandmother Olga, holding my hand standing at the gate, but thankfully it is etched in my memory. And I love that I get to give the gift of memory, history, and love to those I photograph.