We knew the time was soon coming Mitch would lose his ability to do … everything. Although we were in the early stage of DMD, Natalie and I felt it best to sell our home and find a place that would eventually accommodate his physical needs and give us time to grow roots in a community before the storm came. Mitch was such a young boy and didn't have any idea we sold our home and built a new one just because of him – neither did he have any idea the violent storm that was headed his way and would soon rip his life from him. That storm we were told would surely come, came much faster than any of us imagined.

In this photo we were sitting with our kids in the master bedroom; the carpet had just been installed and our home felt like a huge cardboard fort that we were going to start living in. The kids were so excited ... and the little kid in me was, too. At one point Mitch leaned forward and kissed Wyatt’s forehead. Wyatt, being a tiny little baby, toy still in mouth, tried to love his brother in-kind and give him a sloppy kiss as only teething babies know to do. I marvel how children instinctively know love … and I marvel equally how grownups and nations, who, through time and experience ought to know better, tend to forget how to love and be kind.

Wyatt was a tiny baby, just approaching his first birthday. Mitch loved being a big brother and was glad to no longer be the baby of the family. Mitch, having a younger sibling, was beginning to learn a new dimension of love. It is one thing to love and be loved by a parent or an older sibling, but to reach down and care for a little one … that is a different kind of service, a different kind of love. Mitch was learning to love anew. As his father, watching Mitch love his little brother, I was learning to love anew, too.

Because of the way I photo-journal, I often encounter moments unprepared – but I shoot anyway. I have come to appreciate the true beauty of any photo has less to do with light and composition (though helpful), but rather their true beauty is found in the stories they tell. I would rather have a million blurry photos of love and life than any number of staged moments shrink-wrapped technical perfection. Photojournalism, to me, has become something of a metaphor and symbol of how I try to live my life. If I hold out for the perfect moment, if I artificially construct something that isn't real, I will miss out on a million magic moments. 

This simple, flawed and dimly lit photo captures my heart because the subjects herein are my heart – and this moment of unrehearsed love between siblings sweeps my heart to a peaceful place and it lingers there a while. I am thankful for those peaceful moments. As much as I try to be in the moment, there is a part of me that wishes to go back in time and re-live these magic moments – to drink it in more slowly and to savor every part of it. Though life can hand out great difficulties and bring me to my knees, there is beauty in the details of the moment – more than I had eyes to see. 

To me, it is ironic that when I was young and growing I wanted to race to tomorrow and chase the promise and secrets it kept. Time, like a giant, invisible key was slowly unlocking me from the tyranny of parents enforcing curfews, bedtimes, chores and homework – tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. The minutes felt like hours and months miniature years. Time was an uncompromising tether keeping me from the freedom of the future. But tomorrow has come and gone … over 14,000 of them, in fact. Suddenly I have found my years add up and I no longer want for tomorrow or the quick passage of time, except to see my little son again. The older I get the faster time feels and I wish it to slow down like it seemed when I was young – because today I appreciate the value of magic moments in ways I didn't back then. 

Tomorrow can keep its secrets, every last one … for there is magic in the moment and I will seek after them until my time is done.