The Photo I Almost Missed

Every year, my husband Stan and I go to Martha's Vineyard in September. We learned early that September is the right time — quieter, softer, the light different from the summer crowds. For years, one of our dogs came with us. The last one to make those trips was Murphy.

Murphy was a character. He turned 15 in November of 2023, which still feels impossible to say out loud.

In September of 2022, I was down the beach photographing seascapes when I looked up and saw Stan and Murphy further along the shore — walking, running, Stan laughing like a boy with his dog. It was exactly the kind of moment I spend my life trying to capture for other people. And I didn't have my camera on me.

I regretted it the entire way home. Through October and November I kept coming back to it. Murphy was 14. What were the odds he'd make another trip?

The second week of January, we found out. Murphy needed emergency gallbladder surgery. He was diabetic and had Cushing's — both of which made the surgery genuinely risky. My vet was confident, and Murphy came through like the stubborn, wonderful dog he was. But the countdown to September felt different that year. More urgent. More loaded with what it might mean if things didn't go our way.

Then, about a week before we were supposed to leave, the weather forecasts started mentioning a hurricane. Hurricane Lee.

We went anyway. We drove up on September 9th knowing we might have to turn around early, hoping for one good sunset. All I wanted was a single image — Murphy and Stan on the beach at Aquinnah, the way I'd seen them the year before and failed to capture.

I got it. The waves were enormous, the colors dramatic and strange because of the storm building offshore. I got the shot, came home, and spent hours turning it into a painting in Photoshop — pushing the light, deepening the water, making it feel the way that moment had felt rather than just the way it looked.

Murphy passed away on December 27th, 2023. He was 15.

That painting hangs in our home. I look at it on the hard days.

Here's what I want every person reading this to know: if I hadn't been able to take that photograph, I could have built it from images I already had. The technology exists. The skill to use it — with an artist's eye, with care for what the moment actually meant — that's what I bring to this work. A blurry snapshot. A screenshot from a video. A photo taken on a phone in bad light. Any of those can become something that hangs on a wall and brings someone back.

You don't have to have the perfect photograph. You just have to have loved them.

If you did, share what you have. Let's talk about what's possible.