I Thought I Had More Time | Legacy Portrait Photographer in MN

A reflection on time, legacy, and why being present matters more than we think

I don’t usually write blog posts like this. I’m a photographer, not a grief expert. I don’t have profound answers or polished wisdom on loss. What I do have is a recent, very real reminder that life moves faster than we expect, and sometimes it leaves us scrambling to catch up.

I know I’m not the only person who has lost a parent suddenly. Far from it.

But in the weeks since my mom passed, I’ve felt a quiet nudge that there’s something here worth sharing. Not for sympathy, but because maybe it helps someone pause, pick up the phone, or do the thing they’ve been putting off.

I thought I had more time.

More time to slow down.
More time to make the memories feel less rushed.
More time to get to “someday.”

When my mom died unexpectedly, that thought cracked into a million pieces I can’t put back together.

Sometimes the Photos Are Not for You

As a portrait photographer, I’ve spent my career encouraging people to step in front of the camera. To be seen. To exist in photos not just for today, but for the future.

Like so many families, my own story carries a familiar truth. My mom hated having her photo taken. I don’t think she ever saw herself the way the rest of us did, or understood how much those images mattered to her family.

Sometimes the photos are not for you.

They are for the people who love you and see you for YOU.
They are for the people who will miss you.
They are for the legacy you leave behind.

When I think about my mom now, what I miss most isn’t the running me from one activity to the next growing up. It’s the every day moments I wish we had more of. The visits with our family as she would make herself a cup of black coffee. The laughter. The meaningful conversations that happen when no one is rushing off to work or the next responsibility.

She devoted a lot of her time to working. And while I understand that differently now than I did then, there’s a part of me that grieves the time we never got back. Time to just be together. Time to slow down. Time to connect without a clock running in the background.

Those spontaneous family gatherings were my favorite moments, and now I hold them close, knowing they were fewer than I realized at the time. I thought there would be more chances. More weekends. More trips to Croatia together. More opportunities.

There weren’t.

And that is why the images from some of those moments we do have, even the imperfect ones, matter so much. They hold proof. They anchor memory. They remind us of who someone was, not just how they looked.

Waiting…For What?

Losing my mom forced me to confront something many of us avoid.

Work will always be there. The emails will still be waiting when you go back to your desk.
The deadlines will return tomorrow.

The people you love may not be. So what are you waiting for?

If there’s one quiet reminder woven through this loss that I can pass along to you, it’s this. It’s okay to slow down! It’s okay to take the vacation day. It’s okay to leave work early and choose presence with people you love and care about over productivity, while you still can.

Spend time with your people.
Make the memories. Take the family portrait. Even if it’s on a crappy old cell phone.
Capture your family as they are. Be part of their experience here and let them be part of yours.

Because someday is not promised.
Because legacy is built in ordinary moments.
Because being present with your people matters.
And I’m feeling that to my core now more than ever.

Fondly,
Monda the Photographer

Images from Unsplash and Monda Goette Photography

P.S. We took the trip! In September of 2025, my mom, my son and I took a trip to Croatia, where my mom was born. I realized I wasn’t just visiting her past. I was standing in my own roots, an essentially my son’s as well. We spent time with relatives, and took a few days along the Adriatic coast. This is of us in Split, Croatia.

I’m grateful we were able to take this trip together. It means more now than I ever could imagine it did.