Deanna Dikeman’s parents sold her childhood home in Sioux City, Iowa, in 1990, when they were in their early seventies.

They moved into a bright-red ranch house nearby, furnishing it with pieces from their past. Dikeman, a photographer in her thirties, often captured their retirement years during her visits.

Her father, a former traffic manager at a grain-processing company, tended tomato plants in the backyard, while her mother cooked fried chicken and rhubarb pie, storing fresh vegetables in the freezer to get through the cold months.

Every Memorial Day, they loaded their blue Buick with flowers to decorate graves at the local cemetery.

At the end of each visit, Dikeman’s parents would stand outside to wave goodbye as she drove away.

In 1991, moved by the fleeting nature of these moments, Dikeman took a photo of her parents waving from the driveway.

Her mother wore bright pink and indigo, while her father stood nearby in the shade of a maple tree. This farewell tradition became a poignant ritual, one Dikeman captured during every visit over the next two decades.

The resulting photo series, titled Leaving and Waving, is a heartfelt chronicle of family and time. Rain or shine, summer or winter, Dikeman’s parents waved from the driveway, sometimes blowing kisses or bundled in scarves behind snowbanks.

Over time, the photos reveal the subtle passage of years. Early images show the blurred face of Dikeman’s young son and the matted fur of an old dog.

Later photos feature her grown son, now driving, as Dikeman documents her aging parents from the passenger seat.

Dikeman’s father appeared in the series for the last time in August 2009, shortly before his passing. His final photo shows him leaning on a cane, waving alongside his wife.

After his death, Dikeman’s mother continued the tradition, though she protested gently, saying, “No more pictures, Deanna.”

Despite this, Dikeman photographed her mother until 2017, when she moved to a retirement home. Her mother kept waving, even as age bent her fingers, until her peaceful passing later that year.

The series concludes with a powerful image of an empty driveway. After her mother’s funeral, Dikeman set up a tripod and took fifty frames of the quiet scene, marking the end of the ritual.

Years later, as Dikeman’s own son prepared to leave home for his first job, he asked, “Aren’t you going to take a picture?” She retrieved her camera and, for the first time, embraced her role in a new chapter of this deeply personal tradition.