Ashley Caroline is a family photographer and short filmmaker based in Connecticut. This series was captured during April 2020 during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. All stories told were written in real time.

It’s April 19, 2020 and I’m home in Connecticut quarantining with my husband and two boys. My oldest just celebrated his 4th birthday with a parade of cars and a singing firetruck. My young 2 year old will start potty training in one month. My chest felt heavy with every breath which led me to wonder if I had Covid or anxiety. It was a time when we still wiped our groceries with Clorox, when I had to keep my oldest from sneaking into my husband’s office interrupting a Zoom meeting. It was a time when I would cry in the grocery store parking lot after feeling so unsafe yearning for familiarity in a store that I had visited hundreds of times before.

As a photographer, I begged for creation. Inspired by Dorthea Lange, I wondered, who is documenting the authentic lives of mothers during this historic event that has left families without their village and a sense of security? It was historic and no matter your feelings about Covid today, we were mostly united back then. United in fear, united in gratitude for the nurses and doctors and united in loss and uncertainty.

I went into action and called upon all local mothers asking to photograph their lives authentically through a window. 

Beginning on April 25th 2020, I met with over 30 mothers in just over 30 days at the peak of the pandemic. On the other side of a cracked open window or glass door, I asked them all the same question as I photographed their authentic response. What have you lost in the pandemic?

I met with women from all walks of life. We laughed and cried together as we connected over the uncertainty of the future. I felt the strength of women who made impossible decisions. I felt their anxiety radiate through the glass met with my own.

I interviewed and photographed at risk nurses and doctors, stay at home moms, army wives, new mothers, pregnant mothers, adoptive mothers, mothers of special needs children, mothers who faced racism as a result of the pandemic, mothers whose newborns were separated from their essential working fathers.

I met with one mother, Erin, a NICU nurse who was 38 weeks pregnant with her first baby. Well into our conversation, Erin shared that her last shift is the day before her due date. She expressed worry that if she tests positive for the virus at delivery, it is recommended that she separate from her baby for two weeks. In that moment, there was no stopping the buildup of emotion and tears. There was no holding back as I took a few moments to cry and breathe, we both did. It’s the hardest I cried while capturing any of the mothers. In that moment, I felt the weight of her job and sacrifice.

I met with Cally, an army wife whose husband was scheduled to be home for their daughter’s birth but his trip was cancelled just days before her due date. She would deliver her baby with her sister by her side. Her strength and pride radiated through the glass door. It’s a strength that inspires me every time I look at her photograph.

I met with Shannon, a mother of four children whose husband is a police officer and works an extra shift in the local hospital. Their baby girl was one month old when the virus shut the world down. They had to make the impossible decision for her husband to move out temporarily so not to risk exposing the baby to the virus. They sacrificed their newborn baby getting to know the smell of her dad, the calm of his arms and the safety of his chest all to maintain good health and to continue his important work for the community.

But not all stories were heavy with loss and anxiety. There were stories of connection, wonder, curiosity and most of all, presence. Presence with our children, our given attention and just being together.

Photographing these mothers was a gift. It was a moment in history. It was a reminder that I too am strong. As mothers, we all are. That all my boys need is my love and that’s enough. It was enough back then and it’s enough today. 

Looking back, this series empowered and connected mothers helping us get through that traumatic time, together. 

And we sure did.

To all the mothers, you were all heroes too. And we’ll never forget it.