Series - FotoSlovo 2026 - Category « Fine Art »

“Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal…” the elderly neighbor women sing as they carry my great-grandmother’s body out of the house. And finally, I am able to cry.

I am eighteen. I have come to the village for the funeral. This is my first conscious encounter with death. I look at my great-grandmother’s body and cannot believe it. It seems as if she has simply fallen asleep and will wake up soon. But I am afraid to touch her - I understand that she is no longer herself, but something cold and alien, nothing like the living person I once knew.

I am forty-one. I am in the village again. Winter. January. Deep snow. I have come for my grandmother’s funeral - the closest person to me. On the table are eggs boiled in the morning. On the chair - her clothes. Everything looks as if she has just stepped out for a moment.

At the morgue, they told me the cause of death - cardiogenic pulmonary edema. They said two of her ribs were broken during resuscitation. Her cross was not with her; it was later found at home. Now my son wears it. I asked whether her dentures were needed. “No, we have sewn the mouth shut,” the pathologist replied.

I saw my grandmother again only in the church before the funeral. After the service, everyone approached to kiss her, but I was afraid to touch her cold skin. I could only touch the ribbon with prayers placed on her forehead.

At the cemetery, the grave was dug for a long time in the frozen ground. Black clumps of earth on white snow and the open pit were frightening. I threw a handful of soil onto the coffin and realized - this was our last meeting. It was hard to leave her in the cold earth.

Since then, I think about death almost every day. We do not talk about it. We pretend it does not exist. But I cannot stop. I try to imagine what she felt - was she afraid, did she understand?

I think about what happens after death. How quickly the body disappears. What remains. And how will I die? Will I understand that it is the end?

I want to believe in eternal life, as the Gospel says. But faith, too, is a struggle with doubt.