I recently discovered why I love photography so much, and it changed my life.

At South, I focused so heavily on my achievements that I didn’t need to confront my conflicts. I never followed any code or stuck with morals that I knew I should’ve. Worst of all, I pushed grieving to the back of my head. That comforting shield made me lesser than who I am—but it didn’t survive my college transition. As my roommate and his girlfriend went out most days I stayed behind, lost in thought. I treated my room like a confession booth. With the noise of high school gone I finally had to look at myself clearly. I realized I could do better. 

Most of that reflection centered on relationships. For the past decade, I’ve pushed and pulled those close to me. I blamed it on a missing sense of maternity that cannot be replaced. My mother, Leonora Collaku (called Laura, Leo to some close to her), would’ve been turning 51-years-old this January, she passed at 39-years-old. I don’t talk about her much, which doesn’t give her the respect she deserves. Growing older has helped me accept it some. So when I came home for my fathers birthday, I finally decided to look deeply at old photos that he has backed up 3 different ways. My older brother has spent hours flipping through that computer ever since I can remember. In the past when I’ve tried to join him, I could never bring myself to stay too long. I completely abandoned that computer a few years ago after seeing a video of me hugging her after she surprised me on my birthday.

My dad walked in on me crying the night I went back. Not because of grief—but because she was behind the camera for many of them. Mostly, they were of us and our vacations. Funny enough, they had a progression in style similar to mine over the years. Also like me, she captured the whole picture, I know exactly what happened in every scene. I couldn’t even push myself to go through all of them in one night. I never knew because I don’t remember a camera in anyone’s hand but my own in my family, besides a phone. My dad gave me her old one a long time ago, which I lost. I apologized profusely to him. I didn’t know the importance behind it. I didn’t even think it was hers. I called it old a while ago, I felt guilty for that. But, her camera will forever be the first one I used. “It’s just a camera, she didn’t love it [with everything like she did you]” my dad said to me. Finally looking at the computer made me believe the latter. 

She gave me my passion. She gave me my eyes. She gave me my name, and more recently my morals. In those I admire, I look for the values that our family cherished her for—independence, strength and a gentle heart. I cherish my friends and family, and I try to care for them in a way that could only be inherited. She solidified that with her passion for nursing. She makes me want to be a better person. 

Now I have a healthier shield, and I walk taller. Whenever I’m about to do something that doesn’t align with my character, I look up at my mom. I never believed in a god, but I recently started to believe you are watching over me; making sure I learn from my mistakes, making sure I don’t push people away. So, my mother isn’t gone. The feeling of someone close remains as the invisible string that holds both me, my family and my friends together. To any of you who feel lost, look up to whatever you believe in. Just make it something. As for her photos, I was able to pick up her best ones, which made me feel like I was doing my job at The Oracle again. I keep them on a USB stick. I’m sorry for not sharing them, those are mine.