Photographs Of My Grandfather Moments After He Died

My grandfather died in the Spring of 2014. It didn't come as a surprise to anyone. During the last two years he didn't respond a lot – he wasn't present. I don't know if he thought about dying – whether he was expecting or afraid of it. I don't think so. He was 87 years when he died.

My sister and I, along with the mortician, prepared him for his coffin. We dressed him into his best suit, combed his hair – it felt like a last favour for him. Maybe I was trying to compensate for the fact I visited him far too seldom. My conscience isn't clear when it comes to that.

My grandfather and I weren't that close because he and my grandmother lived far away. Only after his condition started to deteriorate did I make any effort to visit them more often and those visits were not easy: My grandfather had lost his hearing and my grandmother had lost her short-term memory. She would ask the same questions again and again and he would sit at the table and smile, not knowing what we were talking about. He seemed pleased that he still recognised me.

When I was a small child I had my reservations about him. He seemed very strict so I kept a certain distance. He wasn't mean or anything; He just didn't want us to fool around and cause the problems kids often do. Now I understand that that was just his way of trying to raise and teach us.

Most people in Finland, where I am from, don't know that you can dress the deceased. And if they did they probably wouldn't do it. Death is still a taboo. You are not supposed to talk about it, let alone photograph it. I don't know why this is; Maybe we don't want to be reminded of our immortality.

The moment of preparing my grandfather was beautiful. Time seemed to come to a halt. There was no hurry, I could think of nothing but the moment at present moment. All my memories of him felt stronger, more concrete. During the years I photographed him on many occasions and he always had this amazing presence. This was our last shoot together although, in some sense, he was no longer there. Merely a shell was left. I took photos for a few minutes, then I closed the coffin with the mortician. That was that. Thee last time I saw him.

Looking the pictures now, takes me back to the moment of seeing him in the coffin. In the pictures he seems to be at ease. And there still is that sense of presence. In some way I feel a lot closer to him now than I ever did before.

These photos are from the series 'To Bury a Father' by Kimmo Metsäranta.