For those who know Sam and me well, it will come as no surprise that Sam took a ton more photos and videos than I did—especially videos! For whatever reason, I’ve never been one to capture videos, and I rarely watch back the few that I have taken. I’m more the type to enjoy a school play in the moment rather than view it through my phone’s camera. But boy, am I grateful Sam had a different approach. She took thousands of photos and videos of Carter and Sofia. Many of those are now the most precious gifts I have—memories I can replay forever.
One of the first things I did after Sofia passed away was go through all of Sam's photos from 2020-2024 and pull out my favorite ones of Sofia. Sam, like most people, backs up her photos to iCloud, but I needed to have these special photos saved in more than one place. It would take me weeks to go through over 10,000 photos. I selected many of them for the slideshow we played at Sofia’s Celebration of Life. The task of sorting through that many photos was challenging on its own, but combine the volume of the task with the emotional weight of reliving so many beautiful memories of a life so short, and it became an incredibly exhausting few weeks.
Once I finished saving my favorite photos in as many places as possible, I had to turn my attention to the videos. Sam took more videos of just Sofia than I have ever taken in my life—combined. Not just of one person… I mean, if you combine every video I’ve ever taken since I started using a phone as my primary camera. And videos aren’t like still images that you can glance at, select a bunch of favorites, and add to an album. You have to open and play each one to know if it’s capturing an incredible moment in time or one of the many, many times Sofia grabbed Sam’s phone, pressed record, and then—30 minutes later—Sam finally finds her phone and turns it off.
I started working on this project around late May or early June. I finished today, December 2nd. About six months to finally find the time and emotional strength to relive every moment of Sofia's life—from her first breath in July 2020 to her last in April 2024. Sorting through 10,000 photos was exhausting. Sorting through nearly four years of videos was, at times, completely debilitating. At most, I could usually only handle about 20 minutes at a time before I’d need to stop. Lately, though, I’ve been able to withstand longer sessions. As the videos became more recent and relatable to how I picture Sofia in my head, they became less daunting and, in some ways, more therapeutic—almost comforting, in fact.
But as I finally passed April 14, 2024, in Sam’s photo library and flicked through the end of the month, into May, then June, and beyond, the reality that there would never be another video of her hit me hard. I broke down.
Video by video, counting down those final days, I remembered vividly every thought and feeling I had in those moments. I can tell you with absolute sincerity, I never once thought she would leave us as soon as she did. I look back, frame by frame, trying to find clues that could have predicted what happened, and there are none. I always knew she might not live a long life because she was battling a very serious cancer and we had had our share of setbacks, but I can assure you that no one around us could have seen how quickly it would happen.
I’m watching back these videos over the last six months, knowing exactly how and when it all ends. I know what's coming, and yet I still found myself surprised. How could she have the energy to ride her bike and play at the park with her Papa on a Wednesday, and by Thursday, the doctors are telling us there’s nothing more they can do? Then, by very early Sunday morning, she’s in heaven.
Part of my personal approach to grief is always seeking out a positive in the hardest of days—a lesson I can learn that will help me be a better person, a better husband, a better friend, a better father.
My lesson for myself through all of this:
Even when we know something may not last forever, even when we know with certainty it won’t, even when it's already over and we are simply looking back at videos of days gone by… it always happens quicker than you think.
One of the first things I did after Sofia passed away was go through all of Sam's photos from 2020-2024 and pull out my favorite ones of Sofia. Sam, like most people, backs up her photos to iCloud, but I needed to have these special photos saved in more than one place. It would take me weeks to go through over 10,000 photos. I selected many of them for the slideshow we played at Sofia’s Celebration of Life. The task of sorting through that many photos was challenging on its own, but combine the volume of the task with the emotional weight of reliving so many beautiful memories of a life so short, and it became an incredibly exhausting few weeks.
Once I finished saving my favorite photos in as many places as possible, I had to turn my attention to the videos. Sam took more videos of just Sofia than I have ever taken in my life—combined. Not just of one person… I mean, if you combine every video I’ve ever taken since I started using a phone as my primary camera. And videos aren’t like still images that you can glance at, select a bunch of favorites, and add to an album. You have to open and play each one to know if it’s capturing an incredible moment in time or one of the many, many times Sofia grabbed Sam’s phone, pressed record, and then—30 minutes later—Sam finally finds her phone and turns it off.
I started working on this project around late May or early June. I finished today, December 2nd. About six months to finally find the time and emotional strength to relive every moment of Sofia's life—from her first breath in July 2020 to her last in April 2024. Sorting through 10,000 photos was exhausting. Sorting through nearly four years of videos was, at times, completely debilitating. At most, I could usually only handle about 20 minutes at a time before I’d need to stop. Lately, though, I’ve been able to withstand longer sessions. As the videos became more recent and relatable to how I picture Sofia in my head, they became less daunting and, in some ways, more therapeutic—almost comforting, in fact.
But as I finally passed April 14, 2024, in Sam’s photo library and flicked through the end of the month, into May, then June, and beyond, the reality that there would never be another video of her hit me hard. I broke down.
Video by video, counting down those final days, I remembered vividly every thought and feeling I had in those moments. I can tell you with absolute sincerity, I never once thought she would leave us as soon as she did. I look back, frame by frame, trying to find clues that could have predicted what happened, and there are none. I always knew she might not live a long life because she was battling a very serious cancer and we had had our share of setbacks, but I can assure you that no one around us could have seen how quickly it would happen.
I’m watching back these videos over the last six months, knowing exactly how and when it all ends. I know what's coming, and yet I still found myself surprised. How could she have the energy to ride her bike and play at the park with her Papa on a Wednesday, and by Thursday, the doctors are telling us there’s nothing more they can do? Then, by very early Sunday morning, she’s in heaven.
Part of my personal approach to grief is always seeking out a positive in the hardest of days—a lesson I can learn that will help me be a better person, a better husband, a better friend, a better father.
My lesson for myself through all of this:
Even when we know something may not last forever, even when we know with certainty it won’t, even when it's already over and we are simply looking back at videos of days gone by… it always happens quicker than you think.
Sofia lived a short life to be sure. But the photos and videos were a great reflection of how much she was loved each and every of her life. She was a lucky girl and I am a very lucky father.
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