I just got back from my Grandpa Jimmy's funeral.

It's strange, really. I'm 31-years-old and up until two months ago I still had four living grandparents. In many ways I feel lucky, but, on the other hand, this has been a strange summer.

In mid-June we buried my other grandpa, Grandpa Miranda (who I simply called "grandpa") and now, today, we buried Grandpa Jimmy. We even used the same funeral home for both burials.

As I walked up to the casket today, to say a final goodbye to Grandpa Jimmy's body, I kept having flashbacks to Grandpa Miranda in the casket -- it was surreal.

Seeing Grandma Mae (Grandpa Miranda's widow) greeting Grandma Virginia (Grandpa Jimmy's widow) was also surreal.

Finally, after Grandpa Jimmy's graveside service, Blo and I walked over to Grandpa Miranda's grave, a mere 40 or 50 feet away from where Grandpa Jimmy was buried. Again, it was surreal.

I didn't take any photos today, but I did shoot a few photos at Grandpa Miranda's funeral. It was difficult to shoot anything at that funeral because I was a pallbearer, and, let's face it, you don't see too many guys walking around with professional camera gear at a funeral.

Despite all that, the photos I did get were, to me, some of the most profound pictures I've ever taken. They're not the best compositions and they're not technically perfect, but they communicate -- at least to me -- the gravity of the event.

I've decided to post what I think are the two most important pictures I shot on that day. I debated with myself whether or not sharing these pictures would be too personal. I worried about crossing an invisible line of propriety. In the end I thought, what the heck, I'm a photographer -- it's who I am.





Goodbye, grandpas. See you soon.