"I'm So Glad I Took These Photos"

Award-winning photographer Deanna Dikeman on her collection ‘Leaving and Waving’

Few pieces of art, in my opinion, can truly capture loss — an incredibly individualised facet of life. Losing both my grandmothers in the space of three months in 2022 was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced, and even as I write this, I’m plagued by my final, dark memories of them. But, in these instances, I’m always reminded by the words of my friend who faced a similar loss: “Take them with you.” In other words, take the happy memories and move forward. 

In award-winning photographer Deanna Dikeman’s collection Leaving and Waving, which documents 27 years of her parents waving goodbye from their Iowa driveway, loss plays a pivotal role. However, Leaving and Waving’s 93 photographs are not solely anchored by loss but also familial love, nudging viewers to cherish such quotidian moments that, following loss, become memories greater than they ever appeared before. 

Following relocating from Iowa to Louisiana, Dikeman began the unexpected project after visiting her parents and taking what is now the collection’s first photograph, dated ‘7/1991’. In an essay commissioned for the exhibition, There Were 93 Goodbyes at Flow Photographic Gallery in London, she explains the origins of the photograph: “I took [the] first goodbye snapshot in 1991 just for fun as we drove away because everything was colourful and I had Kodachrome film in my camera. Mom wore a bright pink blouse and indigo shorts, and there was the blue sky, the green grass, and the red house. Mom looked so sweet and silly waving to me at the end of the driveway. As a daughter and as a photographer, it was an irresistible scene.” 

Gradually, Dikeman’s parents become overtly aware of the camera. “Mom and Dad didn’t mind being photographed at all,” Dikeman explained, “My dad was a hobby photographer, so I think he understood my interest and desire to photograph my family.”

The collection’s photographs exist as vignettes, individual in their own right, and each telling a different story. Asking Dikeman to choose a favourite, she chose ‘5/1999’ in which her mother is waving to her grandson, Dikeman’s son whilst her father is waving to Dikeman holding the camera. The photograph is a microcosm of Leaving and Waving’s expression of familial love, each parent connecting with a generation. 

As the narrative progresses, loss takes on a central role following the death of Dikeman’s father in 2009. A photograph that stood out to me was ‘12/2009’, which depicts Dikeman’s mother, surrounded by a heap of snow on the driveway, waving alone from afar. “That photo was the first Christmas that we had after my dad had passed away. I chose that frame because I wanted to emphasise all the snow and the cold, and how small she looked in the scene. I wanted to show how alone she was,” Dikeman explained. Interestingly, while her mother is far away, one can’t help but notice her smile, exuding a sense of warmth and closeness. “I know she was sad we were leaving, but part of the reason I did the photos was to give us a reason to smile for the camera, even though we were going away.”

Following Dikeman’s father’s death, her mother’s presence in the photographs naturally increases, gradually coming closer to the camera, exhibiting both happiness and sorrow. Dikeman stated, “I think I got closer to Mom with the camera so I could better show the sadness in her eyes.”

By far the most profound photograph in the collection is its concluding photograph: ‘10/2017’, depicting an empty driveway. Dikeman’s mother had passed away in assisted living. Her mother’s absence is palpable, a familiar face gone from the lens. Speaking to the Tamron Hall Show, Deanna described the process of taking the final photograph: “I was very nervous when I took the picture, it probably took me a half hour to take that one photograph.” In her essay, she writes, “For the first time in my life no one was waving back at me." 

Reflecting on the collection, I asked Dikeman whether Leaving and Waving has negotiated the process of grieving. She mused, “Oh yes, it has. It has been comforting to have these photographs as a reminder of how much my parents loved me. So many times when I was working on the digital scans for the book, I got tears in my eyes. I’m so glad I took these photos.” Dikeman reflected on the collection’s ability to connect her with her parents, “I have been able to preserve some lovely memories. All I have to do is look at one photo to transport myself back to a day when we were all together.”

Since being published as a book in 2021, Leaving and Waving has had a huge cultural impact.  ‘A Photographer’s Parents Wave Farewell’ was one of the top 25 stories of 2020 in The New Yorker and photographs from the collection have been showcased in twelve countries across the globe. Addressing the collection’s impact, Dikeman described her correspondence with viewers who too have lost loved ones: “The interesting thing is that I have gotten so many messages on social media from people who wished they had done the same thing. But they regret it is too late and their loved ones have passed away.”

Looking back on the past, I can’t help but think of the phrase ‘would’ve, could’ve, should’ve’ and wish I’d done things differently, perhaps visited my grandmothers more or embraced them more. But, you cannot change the past — what you can do is change the present. Concluding our conversation, Dikeman noted, “I hope that people think a little bit more about how important their loved ones are, and how we never know what could change, or how soon they will be gone from our lives.”

Considering Leaving and Waving, my friend’s sentiments in “take them with you” seem all the more resonant. The collection’s depiction of a suburban couple simply waving goodbye is a heartfelt reminder to appreciate life — most importantly, your loved ones.

Illustration by Hannah Beggerow