In some ways, Loving Aunt Ruth, is the culmination of everything for which I have cared.

Family, story, respect, hardship, triumph, humor, and photography.

My father died when I was three. He was 46 and a professional photographer who relentlessly and skillfully documented our life. Studying his photographs allowed me to invent my past.

My Aunt Ruth is the only one left of my family’s elders, and I want to make sure I do for her what my father did for me.

I love my beautiful, brave, and ever-loving Aunt Ruth.

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