I was honored with the opportunity to photograph a funeral for a fire chief in our area. He was a Navy veteran, a beloved husband, father to two girls, and both a career and volunteer fireman. He poured his life out in service to others, and watching the honors unfold to remember him was an experience I won't quickly forget.
Funerals are one of my favorite things to photograph. As someone who loves when people connect in genuine, raw places, I have found funerals to be a place of intimate connection, and tender emotions, and gracious handling of the hearts of others. While there is always pain involved, there is always much beauty too. I love watching how the families are cared for, and how gracefully the lost one is respected.
Visitation for the funeral was the night before the funeral services. I had been invited to go and photograph it by the man who had hired me. He hadn't given me any specifics, and I slipped carefully through the crowds to get images I hoped would touch the family for years to come. At one point I wedged into a back corner and grabbed some shots of friends honoring this great man at the side of his casket. There were parts of the gleaming wood in my shots, but not any of the man resting inside. I walked out into the lobby to catch my breath and was stopped by another photographer. He was aggressive and prying and asked me questions from who I was, to who had hired me, and what kinds of shots I was taking. He made sure to let me know how important he was and that his images taken on behalf of the Navy would be used for public consumption as well as being placed in our local paper. He told me to be sure to stay out of his shots the next day and reminded me again of his importatance. I was completely bewildered and felt insignificant. He then told me the family had told him no shots of the casket. My face fell and my heart sank. I mumbled that I had already taken some shots and that I never meant to offend anyone. He told me to delete them. He walked me through the very simple and elementary process of deleting off of my camera- as though I had no idea what I was doing. I stood there dumbfounded and concerned I had overstepped my boundaries. I managed to get away from him, but his prying and aggression with me had deflated my confidence and I wandered around the funeral home in a fog, worried I had somehow committed an unpardonable sin during an evening that was both intimate and precious.
When I climbed back into my car, now a trembling bundle of nerves, the man who had hired me (but who had to leave prior to my arriving at the visitation) texted to ensure I was ok. I texted back worriedly that I had been approached by the Naval photographer who told me to stay out of his shots, and told me to delete all of my casket images per the desire of the family. The man who hired me to be there (who was a close personal friend of the family) simply texted back- They knew you would be there Heather. Assurance. Importance. Inclusion. His simple words reminded me I had been sent there with the most important job- to work for the family.
The next morning I arrived early. I began my work, with the frustrating nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I was somehow not good enough, or my work would be offensive. Eventually the man who hired me found me and hugged me tightly to tell me how much my presence and my work meant to everyone. My guilt and shame was palpable and gnawing and so tumbled out as I told him how concerned I was about offending the family. He quickly put my fears to rest. The aggressive photographer came up to the two of us, interrupting our conversation rudely, and began his barrage of questions to my friend. My friend responded to him firmly but kindly and let him know that I was there to work on behalf of the family and could do whatever I pleased. And, to kindly stay out of my way. I was elated. I had been thinking since the night before that the family's desires trumped the Navy's guidelines any day, but I hadn't been bold enough to say it out loud.
A couple of days ago, it hit me. Because of the way I was treated in my marriage, I have been conditioned to always take the posture of guilt and shame. I had been approached by a man who had no business telling me how to do my job, and yet my immediate response to his out-of-line correction had been guilt. My heart was grieved to realize that I have been so carefully trained to always take the blame that it is second nature in most every place in my life. I had nothing to feel guilty about, nothing to apologize for, and yet I took on his annoyance, his threatened posture, and absorbed it into my heart as anxiety and worry and shame. What an awful realization. How many times have I taken direct hits from poisonous arrows never meant for my heart because I've been trained that by my mere existence I am guilty?! How many times have I sat in unnecessary worry and anxiety because I didn't stand up for myself and speak out against the circumstances that had nothing to do with Heather? How much time has been wasted in damaging shame because I took on the concerns of others when I had no business picking them up and packing them onto my back? My heart is torn at this realization, and yet I'm so thankful for the burst of clarity that pierced my heart the other day. I will be careful going forward to pass those feelings of guilt and shame through wisdom first before I choose to add them onto my own burden. I have so far to go in my healing process, and yet I'm so very grateful for the clarity that comes and brings with it lessons that can change my future.
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