The greatest man I've ever known suddenly died one year ago today. His name was Ken Akers and he was a riveting photojournalist...and he was my mentor and best friend.

I had to work 12 hours today. I requested the day off because I knew that I would have trouble pulling it together. I was nearly half an hour late to work this morning. The day just got worse and worse, but I'll spare you the details.

Ken introduced me to my first digital camera. He loaned me his Nikon DH1 - a large, steel reinforced, heavy monster of a thing. He also trusted me with his beloved - the 105mm f/1.8 lens with a very low serial number. I fell in love. With Ken and with the Nikon Digital. He allowed me to make payments on the D70s I have now (which he had never done).

His death was sudden. It was a heart attack that left him without oxygen and thus, brain dead. I suppose I really lost him on October 19th; the day of his heart attack, but the 24th is the day they shut off his life support.

Ken taught me ... "a lot" is an understatement and "more things that I can count" is cliche. So I'll just say...

Ken taught me.

He taught me just about everything I know about photography today. And more importantly, he taught me to TEACH MYSELF. RTFM was his favorite answer for everything.

He taught me to live life. There are VERY few things in my life that I regret. Ken made that cliche about regretting the things I haven't done ring true for me. I never told him how much I loved him or how I enjoyed our time together. YES I KNOW! that he already knew it. But that doesn't fucking matter, does it?!

I went to his funeral and regretted it. But I probably would have regretted it more if I hadn't gone. You see, Ken was my first dead person. Until him, no one in my life who was really close to me had died.

Ken taught me about death. I'm still not sure I know how to deal with it. But who does? The last time I saw him was around September 8th or so. A little more than a month later, he was on life support. What I did learn is that I should ALWAYS tell someone how I feel about them because I may never get another chance. That's the reason my godmother is speaking to me again and why she allowed me to shoot her daughter's senior portraits this summer.

I worry sometimes that I'll forget things. Details. Memories. Tiny little things that meant so much. It's only been a year, but I can't remember what his voice sounded like anymore. It took me a moment to remember the name of the Nikon he loaned me. I fear that time and age will rob me of these things that are precious to me.

I think I am going to stop here. This subject leads me to things I'm not ready to think about yet, like when my mother will die.



Tomorrow, I'm going to go to Ken's favorite bar, where we spent most of our time. It's called Time Out Lounge. A couple of his friends will probably meet me there. I'll have a Coors Light for him.

G'night everybody.