Portraits
Tonight I was reading through my regular blog reads, and when I got to Dooce, she had posted a link to a very unusual photo exhibit featuring photos of the dying before and after they had passed. The post had already been edited to include a complaint from a reader who held Heather Armstrong, proprietor of Dooce, personally responsible for the reader clicking the link to the site showing the pictures. She opened comments at that point, and while I mentally debated whether I would follow the link myself, I read what was overwhelmingly a poignant and thoughtful response to the photos by some 800 readers. I will not post the link to the exhibit here, but if you’re interested, you can click on the Dooce link above and find it yourself.
I have always thought taking pictures of the dead was really a horrific practice. When I’ve learned that people have taken pictures of their loved ones in the casket at the viewing, I cannot imagine what comfort that could bring. I have been traumatized by open casket visitations every time I’ve been to one over the years; it never gets any better, and I am always appalled at what has become of loved ones at the hands of the funeral home. These experiences are why I will be cremated, (that and general thrift. I would not have anyone waste money on something as useless as an expensive funeral. That’s my value system; others feel differently, and they have a right to. We should all do what makes us feel best and right.)
I never saw A after he died, and while I wanted to, wanted to be there, time has brought me to the belief that perhaps it was a blessing I was spared that memory of him. Though I never got to see the evidence of his death, and that may well have created its own issues in terms of accepting the reality of it, it does mean that in all my memories he is alive and well and strong.
All of this went through my head as I pondered whether I would click, because in addition to all this personal history, I am blessed/cursed with powerful curiosity. Given the choice between knowing and not knowing, whatever it is, I want to know. Sometimes I regret knowing, but that fact doesn’t stop me the next time. There was something compelling about the idea of such a project, that someone would so carefully and thoughtfully document a subject that is a source of fear for most and pain for many. And finally, all along this journey, I have had the impulse to test my healing and probe my growth to see if it is real, if it is strong enough to hold in the face of whatever life throws at me. If, after all this, I could not look upon death, then what have I learned? I keep saying I’m not afraid of death. Is it true? Some people put their hands over flames to test their fortitude; I clicked the link, though not without trepidation.
They were black and white before and after portraits of faces, and seemed to have been taken not long after the person passed; that is, before the mortician got ahold of them. So while they look somehow empty, they do not look garish and fake. They look like human beings; the images were powerful, and while not as horrible as I feared, not for the faint of heart. I looked at about 5 pairs of photos, and that was enough for me. The tightness in my chest told me that I had tested my mettle enough. I had witnessed the bravery of those who had consented to be a part of the project and of the photographer who had conceived of the project. I know now that had I seen my beloved once he was gone, I would’ve still recognized him. And I still think it was probably a blessing that I didn’t.