A few weeks ago there was a loss. A big loss. My photography studio of ten years had a fire.

I headed up to the studio like any normal day to meet clients and saw trucks in the distance. “Oh, a car accident, I immediately thought. The traffic light at my studio is notoriously bad. Then I got a little closer and my heart sank. With all the firetrucks, I knew they were putting out a fire. I saw the smoke from the windows and the other building tenants standing outside with unhappy faces.

The fire was contained, but it was obvious there was a lot of damage. I walked up to a fireman and told him which suite was mine. He looked at me and said “Your suite is gone. All the suites had immense smoke damage and yours is bad.”

I immediately went into emergency crisis mode, contacting clients and rerouting. That particular day was a busy one and I could barely process that my studio was still smoking.

A few days later, we were cleared for entry to retrieve “personal belongings” and my husband Randy went to check out the studio. He told me, “Rachel, good thing you didn’t see it. It’s like a horror film. I could barely breathe, smoke and water damage everywhere. Black specks of something everywhere…it was really emotional actually” The thing with a photography studio…all of it feels like personal belongings. It’s not just an office space.

We remodeled that space when we moved in. It was a lot physical labor (from my husband and father-in-law), but every part of it was done with love and thoughtfulness. They created just what I asked for and more. I sat in a paint store for three hours tweaking for just the right shade of grey for the walls. We had days of shopping for just the right furniture. When we couldn’t find exactly what we wanted, we refurnished antique pieces.

We were there for ten years and carefully added anything that seemed like it would be “just right”

It was gone. We lost everything. We are currently trying to save the antique camera of my grandpa’s. But it is still in the garage reeking of smoke. One little camera.

The next few weeks was a whirlwind of signing insurance papers, trying to itemize the big things. Moving out what could be saved. Nothing much it turned out. Even things we thought were okay ended up reeking of smoke.

Recently, it’s all been hitting a little more. It was a special place that we loved. We built a lot of dreams there and lived a lot of life. It wasn’t my home, but it was definitely an extension of it. It’s been a lot of grieving.

Part of the grieving were remembering moments. Seeing girls light up when they saw their pictures. Taking a walk around the studio showing different products to people, who were deciding on what should be part of their home. Thinking about one studio session with a girl who later told her friend, “I’ve never felt pretty and Rachel made me feel pretty.” I can still envision all those sessions and all those ordering appointments. All the happiness.

We are not sure what the next steps are. However, the old saying “when one door closes, another opens.” We will see where the next dream takes us.

My grandpa’s camera. A very small item that we tried to save. It still smells like smoke and is sitting in the garage currently.