My Pictoral Goodbye.

Roses on his coffin.

A page in our scrapbook where we glued pictures of him and ourselves, wrote our last words to him, and buried with him.

My cousins and I working on our speeches and scrapbook for the funeral. I did not take this picture (I'm in it :) ).

One thing our Grandfather taught us was to always eat together as a family.

So my grandfather passed at the end of last month. I took maybe 600 photos during my weeklong stay in Toronto - what I refer to as a weeklong funeral. Honestly they've been too painful to look at, and I ended up shooting almost everyday this month, probably just to bury the memory of the melancholic event.

Tonight I got to take a closer look to see what kind of photos I took, and I was overwhelmed with the messages of love and continuity that people so subconsciously desire in their intimate relationships, whether within families or friendships. There were many images of my family gathering, breaking bread together, sharing relics that remind them of my grandfather and his lessons of love and family, supporting each other in the darkest of times, and even making light of heavy moments with a silly joke or warm gesture.

I had scruples over documenting the funeral, but was also faced with the desire to be responsible and be the eye for those who couldn't be present (my sister for example, who could not come because she was 9 months pregnant). As a photographer, often times I feel my way of avoiding reality is by turning difficult events into artistic ventures. I'm not not taking things seriously; moreso, I'm avoiding my own pain by putting my emotions aside and focusing on what is happening outside of me. It is this switch that I make that allows me to transition from a feeling person to a fly on the wall and simply be an eye for the absent.

There were times throughout the funeral that I would feel guilt for attempting to get that perfect shot, seemingly ignoring the fact that it was indeed a funeral, and in fact, my beloved grandfather's funeral, with my family members' pained faces and weakened postures. I would have to remind myself of those who could not be there but so wished to be with us during such an epochal time in our family's history, and that would keep my mind on the original task. In a sense, I was also absent myself, like them, behind a camera, not truly being engulfed 100% by what was happening - perhaps this was my way of avoiding my own feelings, the most common behavior of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Nonetheless, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make in order to present to the absent what was occurring those very important moments.

As I sift through the photos now, seeing the crying faces of my family members, I am brought to tears, reminded of their pain, and what the loss of my grandfather means to me. On the contrary, within the same set, I am uplifted from seeing the resilience that so easily shines in my family, a legacy that George Yun Kee Koo left behind. The day he was buried was so bright and beautiful, it was almost surreal, considering the weather forecasts leading up to that day had warned of heavy clouds and continuous rain.

Since the funeral, I've been sharing Grandfather's stories with my students, and they've since built a connection with him, considering him a hero and a role model. For a man who raised 18 children, 11 not his own, while he was alive, and to still continue teaching the youth now that he is gone.....What greater legacy is there? Because of this I have decided to share this post, and to share a few of the photos with you.

See the rest of the set here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/vanissa/sets/72157623047031402/