Adam Stevens Photography

October 31, 2010

“in the frame” Luke Stevens

I’ve been sitting on this for quite some time.  Like.  A.  Long.  Time.  And as I sit here writing this, I am not sure how soon I will actually pull the trigger on it.

Everyone has a story.  Everyone.  And for everyone it’s different.  Sort of.  We all have events that are part of our story.  The first time we drove a car, saw the stars and knew what they really were, or got really hurt by someone we loved.  Being hurt, healed, and blessed by the life around us.  That is our story.  Luke was and is a part of my story.  For a while not a lot of folks knew about his part of my story.  Luke was my younger brother.  To keep it short, he was killed in an accident in a field across the street from out house in Kirkland.  He was in 2nd grade, I was in 3rd.  Parts of this didn’t really hit me, until I had two little girls of my own, what it must have been like for my folks.  I know I can’t ever really know.  But I know what it was like for me, and it’s been a part of my story.  Not defining me, but a part.  Like knowing what the stars are….

Why now?  There is a friend, I’ve had the chance to second shoot for her, and collaborated a few times, who recently lost one of her twins suddenly and unexpectedly.  I can not imagine what they are going through, well I can imagine but I can’t know.  They are a strong family, not that they were looking to be tested, but I know they will work through this.

And maybe that’s a little bit of what I am doing here.  Working through some of my story.  Three decades after the fact.  I”m just glad I come from a family of photographers…  SO here’s Luke.  Oh, and that kid with the dark hair, yep that would be his big bro.  Me.

 Please excuse me if this post is coming out of left field…  If you haven’t been following me, it’s been a crazy fall….

Edit:  The memorial service was today for the baby.  It struck me, during the service how much smiling, and laughing happens during a memorial service.  That and the pastor quoted one of our College prof’s book on mourning Jerry Sittser’s “A Grace Disguised”, specifically about grief being something that you need to allow to be part of you…



  1. Adam, thank you for sharing your story—or this part of it. I am feeling kinda down tonight. Quinn was out on a mission for 4 weeks and we heard nothing. He posted on fb on Friday and has yet to call or communicate with me. I have spent many hours in the last month worrying about losing him forever. I know how that has felt for me; and I can tell you there is no way I can imagine how you or your folks have felt going through this. I’m glad you are part of our family and I hope telling this part of your story has helped you heal even more. I love you cous and hope you are well.

    Comment by Patti — October 31, 2010 @ 7:58 pm

    • Thank you Patti. I can’t even start to imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. I still think of Quinn as little “Q-Ball”… Hard to imagine him over there. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I understood what I did to my parents till I had kids of my own. (I should probably apologize to them. A lot.)

      Comment by Adam Stevens — October 31, 2010 @ 10:11 pm

  2. Adam,
    Thank you SO much for sharing this part of your story. I’m struggling for words at the moment. I just can’t imagine losing a brother or sister at such a young age. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you and for your parents. Having boys of my own that age, it really hit home for me. The pictures are priceless! I cried my eyes out when I saw the two of you together. How precious. What a reunion that will be someday when you get to hold him like that again! My heart is still so tender from today’s memorial service for baby Taylor. I was really struck when you and I were talking afterward and you made the observation at all the smiles and laughter at a memorial. For a moment, I forgot I was even at a memorial. Thanks again for posting this and sharing the pictures!

    God Bless you!


    Comment by Carly — October 31, 2010 @ 8:33 pm

    • Thank you Carly. I had the same kind of oh, wow moment when Joscelyn’s sister & brother in law had their second son. It’s been kind of surreal at times watching them grow past the age Luke and I were. I think that’s what’s been the hardest, the selfish wishing I could have had all that time and all those memories…

      And after the service today, yea. It has brought a lot to the surface. I probably would have been more verbose if I hadn’t written the post a week ago…

      Comment by Adam Stevens — October 31, 2010 @ 10:17 pm

  3. To enter into a journey of healing is always frightening because there is so much to be healed. Both the crushed heart of the latest tragedy as well as all the scars that cover damage to our hearts from years gone by. Start on one and the others begin to bleed again, all demanding care before we bleed to death from the pain and sorrow of joy that should have been but now never will be.

    But the call to community is the call to conscious, healed living. In our Christian communities we have the model of a man who was damaged and crucified by the immense power of the dark side, the same power which has slashed our hearts open. And in His death, he took on all the wrongs of the world, even the wrongs in the death of a child and by doing so absolving the parents, siblings, and others involved of their sins of both commission and ommission.

    It is only as we share His resurrection with each other that any sense can come of such tragedies as the death of a child. It is only as we cling to His resurrection and our own that we have even a thin thread of hope. Hope not of completing the expectations of the truncated life, but hope which when strengthened by faith becomes confidence that we will see our child again, we will hold him in our arms and love and be loved by that special gift from God.

    It is a long haul to get there. But if others come around, come alongside of, wrap a family in loving actions, the journey to healing is no less painful but is definatly shorter. And less lonely. We need to feed each other as He told us to, we need to house, clothe, visit, and care for those whose scars have come loose and are dripping as they begin to pull life back together; to try to sew together the edges of the new wounds so they can at least go on for a bit. For a minute, for an hour, for a day, and eventually for the rest of their lives. Our prayer is that God will give each family in crisis such a community of caring.

    Comment by Jon — November 1, 2010 @ 7:05 am

  4. At the risk of personalizing this photo too much I need to tell you this scene (or one just like it) has been in my mind for years. I remember a little boy who wanted his mom or dad to comfort him after a fall but Mom or Dad weren’t there and he would accept no consoling from anyone but his big brother. I was a mother myself at that time and realized the importance of two brothers who are there for one another.
    I have always loved my sister’s sons. A.A.

    Comment by Aunt Ann — November 1, 2010 @ 7:12 pm

  5. Jon- not much I can add there. Just “yep”.

    Aunt Ann- Thank you for your back-story! Funny the parts that we forget as we get older… We should flip through some old photo albums next time we are all together. (It always seemed like you were a second “mom” when we were growing up & I loved it… It’s part of why we moved to where we are)

    Comment by photobby — November 1, 2010 @ 11:06 pm

  6. I only get on FB like once a month and it happened to be tonight and I saw this and I want to echo the words of thanks for sharing it and tell you how much I love you, buddy!

    Comment by matt hilditch — November 3, 2010 @ 6:57 pm

  7. I don’t know if you know that your brother was in my 2nd grade class. I remember that time and trying to process it as a child losing a classmate, I can’t imagine it as a brother. Though losing my mother has given me some perspective the thought of trying to understand and come to terms with it at such a young age is baffling to me. You have surely used that experience to grow and become a wonderful person, father and husband full of love to give. I am glad that you are family and it’s crazy to me that life came in such a circle that the first loss of someone I knew ended up being the brother of someone who became my family. There is a beautiful symmetry in that which can only be attributed to something divine and wonderful. Thank you for sharing. xoxo

    Comment by Bethany — November 9, 2010 @ 8:54 pm

    • Bethany, You know if I had thought about it I probably would have figured it out… But as my better half would say, “he would need to think” I joke… The perspective thing is one of those hidden blessings. It really is crazy how our lives (in general) seem to circle back around and bump into the same people again and again. There really is some incredible symmetry, in life and in the world as a whole, that really speaks to something bigger. Way bigger.

      Comment by photobby — November 10, 2010 @ 1:26 pm

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