I had the privilege of being the photographer at my cousin’s wedding this past weekend. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I spent weeks researching everything I could find. I watched videos, downloaded lists, copied tips and tried settings I felt comfortable with. This was a hugely important day on their lives and I didn’t want to mess it up. I made sure to go all in on this.

When the day finally came I was totally prepared. I had all my lists and equipment and was ready to go. As I made the drive to the catering hall I went over and over everything I didn’t want to forget. Who to take photos of, which poses I wanted to do and where I should take photos at the park. As I walked in to meet with the bride I felt a little better. Once I started taking photos, though,  I felt completely at home. I knew this was something I was good at, and all my nerves disappeared. I spent the day happily clicking away. Yes, the joy of the day was there for me, but not at the forefront of my mind. Instead I was focused on the job at hand; getting the good shots, being in the right place and catching the right angles. I was a woman on a mission.

The day went very smoothly for me. And then it was time for the mother-son dance. The music started and this slender woman wrapped her arms around her son’s torso. No longer a child, his sheer size dominated her. Her son was now officially a man. She had given him away to his bride. All at once the gravity of the day hit me. The significance of what this truly meant. This simple dance was a last symbolic moment for them.

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For a split second I saw a glimpse of my future. A moment with my son. The  one that would cleave him from me and pass him into his new life. He would always be my son, but now he would be responsible for another. A dance to close a chapter in my heart. At this I found myself shedding a tear.