When people see this image they respond in different ways. Some have said it’s a photograph full of sadness, that it’s hard to look at. Some say it’s foreboding, an ill omen of days to come. Other are more pragmatic: The dove flew into the window and fell down dead. That’s it. It meant nothing.
My response is to turn it into art. I can’t say that I like the image, but I also can’t deny that it holds immense significance for me. That’s my baby. The diagnosis of his terminal illness came shortly after this dove flew into my window and died. It’s a profound moment in time if you think about it and I wonder at myself for having had the wherewithall to get my camera and capture it.
I tried scraping the color away with an x-acto knife to add texture. I liked the effect at first, but by the time I got to Knox’s face, I was crying a lot and I didn’t want to scrape any more. Any image of him, whether photographed or drawn, is precious to me.
I left it alone.
Grieving my baby boy is hard work. It’s exhausting. The rough days at the end of his life are still bothering me and I can’t stop thinking about what I might have done differently. Sometimes all I want is to do is to go to sleep and not feel the pain for a little while. But as soon as I open my eyes, there it is again. The empty crib, the silent room, the ache of another day without hearing his voice.