Life and death through the lens

This week marks an important anniversary, the death of a special person that helped shape my life. My uncle, Pilu (Octavian, named after my grandfather) was an inspirational person and a teacher to a young photographer. At the age of sixteen when I started taking photos he taught me everything about aperture and F-stops. He was an avid photographer himself in his 20’s and loved to critique and admire my photography. Pilu was also a great subject to photograph because he had the patience to sit still for my portrait sessions, along with an interesting face.I remember getting that gloomy phone call at work from my mom two years ago. We knew that he was sick and suffering so in a way it wasn’t a big shock to find out that he passed away. However, the realization that I would never be able to talk to him and swap stories about life struck my being like a flash of lightning. We flew to Romania the next day and helped my aunt with the funeral arrangements. The day he was buried was one of the coldest day that I have ever experienced in my life. I can still recall the cold ground under my frozen toes. We all gathered at a small old chapel where the hour long mass took place. It was near the end of it that I finally lost it and could not stop crying. I tried to hold back before because crying is contagious at funerals. However, seeing the casket all the memories we shared spun in my head and I realized how much I’ll miss him. It was difficult to take these photos but at the same time therapeutic. I know Pilu would have liked the images.