There's a moment from Veronica & Andrew's wedding last summer that's stuck with me. As wedding photographers we are witness to a near constant stream of heightened emotion: usually a culmination of rapturous joy by way of anxious anticipation, melancholy reflection and overwhelming love and tenderness. This is the norm. And so it takes quite a bit for a moment to stand out and etch itself into my mind in a way where I can replay it almost on command.
This moment happened immediately after the couple's wedding ceremony as they were walking back down the aisle together, something usually referred to as "the recessional." Part of me hates that these moments are codified to the point of being named and generalized, but I digress. "The recessional" is one of those moments of unfettered happiness. It is purposely boisterous and celebratory, where the ceremony itself is usually intimate and quiet. It is a place for fist pumping, excited leaps and enveloping hugs. It is characterized by outsized emotion, and yet still what I saw in Veronica and Andrew stood out.
The couple exited McGill's historic Birks Heritage Chapel into the dimly lit hallways of the university building that houses it, and held on to each other *so* tightly. They pressed their heads together and cried. Time stopped, and in that moment it seemed that nothing else in the world existed but these two, and their shared relief and ecstatic joy that they had found each other. It felt almost intrusive to bear witness to it. The pictures I have from this moment aren't the sharpest or particularly well lit, but I think they are meaningful. They represent the absolute peak of a day filled with beauty and kindness.