My father became terminally ill and died when my children were two and three years old.  At this young age they were unable to comprehend this unimaginable loss.  I could not help but wonder if someday they would feel his emptiness or will they grow up thinking he was never there?

These images serve as a conversation between our two very different experiences.  

I struggled to explain the biology of death to my children and why they would never see him again.  I listened to their minds run wild with ideas of how they could solve this “problem”.  As if there was a problem to solve.  My youngest pleaded desperately, “Mom, can’t we just dig him up?”.  His older brother responded, “No, we can’t he’s just bones by now.”   

This series is ongoing.