Two years ago you became my Heavenly Father, I’m letting this project breathe. All taken in the weeks I was home in Cleveland, Ohio with you and my family. Thinking we had time, I would take pictures when I ran an errand or stepped out for a brief walk. Or on our single trip to the hospital. That only lasted the first few days. Most of the pictures are taken in the days afterward. In the beginning of what would be the rest of my life. Which only gets stranger by the day. Driving past our old house. Looking at old pictures of you. Laying where you took your last breathe. The lake we both grew up on and the lake where you would eventually return to. The final drive to the cottage. This is home. The moments that felt like a dream, the moments that felt like a cruel joke, the moments that made me feel really alive. The moments of unwavering presence. The moments of warm, transportive nostalgia. I walk through the woods and it feels like im walking through the ecosystem of our lives, identifying the foliage like moments that have passed. The same smells and sights and sounds we experienced being raised in the same place. And ultimately, the way we transcend that place. We all have to let go someday, and many times before then. To keep following the eternal path. But part of the point is accessing those memories of our humanness to be loving fuel to our inner flame. And the cycle repeats. Luckily, loving you crosses all dimensions of time and space. But the seed is where we were planted together and the seed is where we walked you Home.