When someone dies, we receive back so little of them… not the warmth of their hands, or the glow in their eyes, or the song of their laughter. We have only objects to remind us – and they become worth their weight in gold to us. He was halfway across the country when he died, there was no getting to him. I was returned his things mysteriously from a far away place. They are the pieces of him that clung tightly to his body when his soul decided not to anymore.
He wore this watch every single day for all the years we knew each other. Took it off only to go to sleep at night. It was the watch that got him to our first date 15 minutes early just to be sure I wasn’t waiting – and every other date we ever had exactly as early. It was the watch he always told me the time from, because I was too lazy to read a watch myself and I liked that he would do it for me. It was the watch that got us to every concert and to all the parties with our friends or family on time. Despite the fact that I worked at a watch company, he never wanted another one. This was the only watch he ever wanted to wear. And because so, whenever I look at it, I see him. It so completely embodies him and – most importantly – our precious time together.
About the Series: Through 40 weekly photos and accompanying essays, 'Still, Life' captures a deeply emotional and psychological journey of what it means to grieve, to heal, and to live on.
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