The photographer at my wedding was awful.
I take that back, his photographs were fine, but he ran around like a nut and was completely drenched in sweat while wearing a black shirt. Ew.
Every time I turned around there was the photographer snapping away.
Every time anyone turned around there was the photographer.
To be fair there wasn’t a lot of subject matter or space because my husband and I had a very small wedding, at our home, in the backyard with just 26 guests.
At one point and long before his three hour commitment had expired, we asked him to leave.
And yet he still managed to send two discs with nearly 1000 pictures. At the time I only loved a handful or deemed “frame quality”. And the rest? The rest turned out to be lovely candid shots that I treasure. Especially the ones of my parents. Somehow our photographer was able to capture many of my parents expressions and I am so grateful to have these photos now.
My mother would have been 67 today and this is one of my favorite photos of her from my wedding. That’s my father in the background. Both of them holding cameras. And champagne.
This is how I choose to remember them.