Whitney. I need some photos.
What kind of photos Woody?
Well, the kind that go on a dating site. The kind that make me look handsome. But I need you to keep this to yourself. Because this is kind of embarrassing.
I smiled.
There was no way to mess this one up. First of all, Woody was, until the very end, an incredibly attractive man. And two, I had a feeling even from his first phone call that Woody would never truly need to create a dating profile. But I let him hire me anyway.
The day of our photo shoot was a clear and gorgeous October day. Woody and I went everywhere. That man loved to have his photo taken. We photographed downtown and at the Art Center, and he had all sorts of ideas as to poses, smile verses none smile philosophies, and of course, a constant interjection of his good humor.
At the close of our photoshoot he told me he was making dinner for my mom the following day. This was news to me, but I wasn’t surprised. As soon as I knew of this impending date, I had a feeling that these photos would never end up on a dating site.
And sure enough, I was right. After years of friendship, my mom and Woody embarked on another adventure, getting to know each other in a new context and the photos now sit in frames in her home, reminding her of the exuberant man who won her heart.
You see, Woody and his late wife Julie had been a part of our family’s life for decades. I remember Woody showing up to our house on Saturday night for supper club, carrying beautiful dishes with Julie always bringing a gift, usually something gorgeous she’d made.
Woody and Julie were my very first clients in Des Moines. I had been home for just a few days when I received a call from Julie.
Whitney, I have cancer. It’s pretty bad. I’d like photos of Woody and I. When are you free?
That very first photoshoot took place in much of the same places. I saw Woody and Julie’s bond, how they were holding each other through this process. And one year later, I saw my photo of Julie enlarged at her funeral, a beautiful portrait of a beautiful person gone too soon.
Now, there is a photo of Woody enlarged, one of the images I took on that fated October day. He is exuberant, joyful, full of energy and handsome as hell. He was also at that time I took those photos, already filling with cancer.
Woody was in my family for a very short amount of time, but there is no denying the energy of a man that full of zeal. Overtime, Woody and I developed our own sort of relationship, something unique and completely its own. With Woody, I got to be me. He never pressed too hard, but was a constant and reassuring presence in my life.
I now find myself wishing I had shared more of myself with him, wishing I had been able to let my guard down sooner and allow him into my life more fully, but this is a lesson I get to take moving forward.
Woody was present for every single life event I experienced from the time he became my mom’s partner to when he exited. He sat at the table for awards, took me out for birthday dinners and was present to the many meltdowns I would have in the company of my mom. He was a safe place. A kind place. A non-judgmental place.
I had the privilege of photographing Woody many times over the past four years, and I treasure knowing that I could make him happy with my skill set. I had the honor of being the last person to photograph him. He wanted a picture with his long hair, because it reminded him of his raucous teenage days. In this photo, taken just a few weeks before he died, he’s wearing his pajamas that had become his uniform. But he is still smiling. Still loving the camera and still moving through the world with that sweet nature I had come to depend on him for.
I am so grateful for this man. For what he created in my life. For the support he gave everyone around him. I’m so grateful he shared himself with me, both in spirit, in life and in photos.
If you’d like to read more about Woody’s enthusiastic life, please read his obituary. You will be able to feel him jumping off the page in joy.