Joy Is Not Cancelled

Recently, I found a tremendous amount of love and joy in the pictures and social media account of a Prince Edward Island photographer. Let me explain:

The Story

PEI born-and-raised Susan lost her mom when she was only seven years old. She watched her father, a hopeless romantic, try to cope with his grief by turning to photography. He and her mother had been together for over twenty-five years, and the loss was devastating.

Susan’s life would not get easier, however. At the age of eighteen, while in her last year of high school, her father passed from cancer. For the first year, Susan appeared to be coping, but soon things started to spin out in a chaotic direction. She felt she was on the wrong path, and without properly processing her losses, she fell into a ten-year depression.

Years later in Calgary, she found herself contemplating her next move—a serious long-term relationship had gone belly-up. While together, her ex had given her a camera, but he kept it when they divided their things.

Without much money or a plan, Susan decided to go back to PEI, even though she didn’t have family there anymore. Eventually, she managed to land a job at the local Best Buy.

One day a friend reached out to her, “Hey. I have this camera.” Ironically, he was also in the midst of a separation. He had bought his girlfriend a camera, and she didn’t want it anymore. “I was going to sell it. Do you want it?

“Do I want it? Of course. Yes, please!”

Susan started to play around with her camera, dabbling with creative shots for her Instagram account. Never did she image another friend would call her and ask, “Would you be comfortable if I recommended you for a wedding?”

Taken aback, she stuttered, “Oh . . . I don’t know. I have never done anything like that before.”

“It’s no big deal. The couple is really low key and mostly just want a casual capturing of the day.”

Susan sighed, “Are you sure they are really laid back?”

“Yes, trust me,” her friend answered.

“Okay. I will meet with them and see.”

The couple was a perfect fit for Susan’s style of photography and loved her work. It didn’t take long for word to go around how talented Susan was, and one wedding grew into many.

In fact, Susan ended up starting her own business and called it Anita Marie Photography. Anita was her late mother’s name, and both of them shared the middle name “Marie.” She felt this was the perfect title to honour her mother and also insert a part of herself as well.

Just before flights were restricted into Canada and self-isolation was a common term, Susan was at a photography conference in Joshua Tree, California. She befriended a photographer from Texas.

She came back to Canada, and briefly things continued as normal. Then the world shifted, almost instantly. Sitting at home, she was scrolling through her Texan photographer-friend’s feed and saw that she was putting a callout if any of her clients would like “frontstep” photos. The frontstep project was a movement where photographers would take family portraits at their client’s front step from a safe distance, usually collecting donations for charities.

Hmmm, Susan thought. This might be a great way to bring some joy during these times and raise some much-needed funds for local foodbanks and charities.

She didn’t think she would get much of a response, but she threw up the callout on her Facebook page. It didn’t long for fifty-some families to say they would like to participate.

Susan got organized. She created a safety sheet, outlining her stringent rules to keep her and her clients safe with physical distancing (she would be using a telephoto lens so that she could remain a safe distance away), she organized the requests by communities so she could hit up certain areas at once, and she created a schedule.

Payment was optional and hands-free. E-transfer only—all funds donated went to support those who were food insecure. Susan’s new sense of purpose to spread joy was underway.

***

High school English teacher, Christie, gave birth to a beautiful baby boy the day before hospitals stopped allowing visitors. She was lucky that both sets of grandparents had opportunity to meet Henry. However, beyond that, friends and family didn’t have the privilege of seeing the newest member of the family. These restrictions, although necessary, made for a more difficult start than expected.

Christie saw a beautiful frontstep project maternity picture of her friend on social media.

What a cool idea, Christie thought. She reached out to Susan and told her what was going on. It would be really special if Christie could get some family pictures with their newborn to share and announce him to all the friends and family who were not able to yet meet him.

The pictures, of course, were beautiful. However, the unexpected joy was not from the photos themselves.

The family had something to look forward to. Recently and very suddenly (and a little beyond her four-year-old comprehension), big sister Eloise had no daycare, no playtime with friends, and no park to look forward to. But for the photo shoot, she was able to choose her favourite outfit, get dressed up in something she enjoyed as if she was preparing to go to a birthday party or something special.

After a week and a half post-partum, Christie found pleasure in doing her hair, putting on makeup, and wearing “real” clothes for the first time in a long time. Planning and coordinating the event gave the family something to anticipate, and they were all very excited.

A breath of positive energy permeated the house. Not only in the preparation for the event, but after they received and shared their pictures.

“The most special thing for us was not just that we had these pictures, but we had this moment to celebrate and to be so proud of our family,” Christie mentioned to her husband, Ryan, afterward.

“You are right,” he added. “Joy is about the people, not the photos.”

***

Apparently, Susan’s desire to bring joy extended far beyond the beautiful representation of people—pixels on screen, exposure, and focus. It gave one family the gift of contentment for an entire week. And like the pictures, that memory will also last forever.

Reflection

As I reflect on the love and beauty of this story, two separate paths that seemed destined to cross in an era where we are mandated to stay apart, I can't help but think of a song by the band Coldjack called "Unconditional," a tune that beautifully celebrates the swell of unconditional love that comes with new parenthood. Enjoy!

***

This is episode five in the series Coronavirus chronicles: Canadian caremongering. If you enjoyed this story, you can read other positive stories:

The Tooth Fairy Is Not Cancelled

40,000 Wedding Guests

An Open Letter to the Employees at a Small-Town Nova Scotia Grocery Store

Even First Responders Need Help too

These and other great stories will be part of a soon-to-be-released book called Not Cancelled: Canadian Caremongering in the Face of COVID-19.