This one is a a good one but it’s a bit of a long one so strap in.

You ever laugh so hard you start crying… and then realize you’re not crying because it’s funny? That happened to me earlier this year.

It was one of the first weddings I photographed on my own. The groom and best man were brothers, military guys, like me and my brother were. The best man was roasting his younger brother during his speech, poking fun, cracking jokes, the whole room was rolling. And I laughed too. I did. But I had tears running down my face. Because in that moment… I didn’t just see two brothers up there. I saw us. I saw me and Miguel.

That’s kind of the thing about wedding photography. Clients will occasionally ask me why I do it, why I love it so much. And the truth is, it’s hard to explain without going a little deep. And look, I get it, weddings are a celebration, a high point. No one wants to be the emotional support photographer. But today’s Memorial Day. So if there’s ever a day I’m allowed to get a little real and be unapologetically me, this is it.

A Brother, A Lifeline, A New Beginning

Back in 2018, a lot was happening. I was getting married. Miguel, my older brother, was retiring from the Army after twenty years. Both of us served. That experience gave us a bond that went beyond the usual sibling rivalry. We didn’t always talk about it, especially around our other siblings, but we felt it.

But Miguel wasn’t just my big brother. He was a lifeline.

Back in high school, I was in rough shape. I was close to not graduating. Honestly, I was lost. And Miguel stepped up. He offered my mom a way out, for her and for me. I moved in with him while he was stationed at Fort Hood. And that decision? Changed my life.

I ended up at a school where teachers gave a damn. I wasn’t just a name on a seating chart. I started working out with Miguel on base, picked up a job, got myself a bike to ride to school and work. And with that paycheck, I bought my first digital camera. Up until then, it was all disposable film cameras, back when phones couldn’t even spell “camera,” let alone be one. That camera changed everything. It wasn’t just a cool gadget. It was a start. Miguel didn’t just give me shelter, he gave me purpose, structure, space to figure out who I wanted to be. He was my brother, sure. But he was also the father figure I didn’t know I needed. My best friend. And looking back, so much of who I am today started there, in that chapter of my life.

I Didn't Know It Would Be the Last Time

So fast forward to my wedding day.

My family? We weren’t the “big wedding” types. Most of us eloped. Spending money on a big party felt indulgent. But I wanted to break that pattern. I wanted to celebrate. And there was Miguel, standing next to me as a groomsman. Smiling like he’d just won the lottery. I’ve never been good at giving myself credit, but that day? Even I could feel it. I was doing something big. And Miguel was proud. You could see it in every photo. I remember looking at those pictures later and thinking, “Man… I’ve never seen him that happy.”

Maybe it was the Army retirement. Maybe it was seeing me finally land on my feet. Either way, I’ll never forget that look on his face. That day turned out to be the last time I saw him like that, whole, strong, himself.

A few months later, everything changed. Miguel and I always talked on the phone about the stories and demons we carried, those quiet, honest talks only vets really understand. But I didn’t know how deep it ran. Not until I saw him again. He was frail. Not just physically, mentally, emotionally. He was drinking too much. Hiding too much. And within two years of my wedding, Miguel was gone.

He died just days after my first son was born. And when I cried, God, I cried hard, it wasn’t just because I lost my brother. It was because my son would never know him. Never hear his ridiculous jokes. Never get that firm, proud Miguel hug. Never hear the stories only Miguel could tell.

You Never Know How Much a Photo Will Matter

So yeah, back to photography. When people ask me why I love wedding photography, it’s this. Because I know, without saying it, that some of the photos I take will become the last photos someone has with someone they love. A grandparent, a parent, a sibling, a best friend.

On the happiest day of your life, I’m capturing not just joy, but legacy.

And no one knows what those pictures will mean until much later. But I do. I’ve lived it. That’s why I shoot the way I do; I want the real moments. The laughter, the hugs, the tearful toasts. Because that’s what stays with us.

So when I was photographing that wedding in January, and the best man got up to toast his little brother, when he made the room laugh, and I stood behind my camera crying, I wasn’t just emotional. I was remembering. I was seeing Miguel again. In that moment, through someone else’s love and story, I was reliving mine.

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a *moment**, until it becomes a* memory.”

That’s what Memorial Day is for, right? To remember. To honor.

So, to my clients: you don’t have to tell me when something happens. You don’t need to give me the heads up. Just know that every time I show up with my camera, I’m there with purpose. I’m there to give you something that may mean more than you can imagine right now.

And to Miguel, thank you. For everything.

I miss you, and I’ll see you in Valhalla.

P.S.
My brother loved Norse mythos. That’s where the name of my business comes from, Valr. It’s an old Norse word meaning “the fallen.” It’s where the word Valor comes from. And it’s my way of carrying him with me, always.