I photograph to remember...

It's one of the those days in Edinburgh, when it never gets quite bright, it's overcast and dull and will probably remain so all day.

I refuse to turn the light on, even though I could probably do with it, but it's just gone 12.30 and I hate having lights on during the daytime. Another few weeks and I'll have to turn the lights on at 3pm, the curse of living so far north.

With light levels being so dim, I thought about what I could photograph inside.

I choose something I have newly acquired, thought it's not new. In fact it's old and not really functional anymore. It's a little case that contains a mirror, but the mirror is damaged and has little blotches on it and the metal case is tarnished.

The letters BOF appear on the front of the case. Betty O'Flaherty.

My Granny died last Easter, on Good Friday. She was a very devote Catholic and so would have gotten a great kick out of the fact she died the same day Jesus died on the cross. She was a month away from her 97th birthday but she was no longer the Granny I remember. She had the strongest heart and it kept beating until her body had deteriorated so much that it seemed impossible she was still here with us...

I did a photographic documentary on her when she was 92. Those photographs where some of the hardest photographs I've ever had to take. I documented a day in the life and told her to pretend the camera wasn't there, which is exactly what she did. I also documented her space. She was a hoarder and never through anything away.

A few days after she had passed away I made myself, though traumatizing as it was, go to her home and record everything about her space. I didn't want to forget. I still haven't been able to look at those images.

I was home in Ireland again a few weeks ago which coincided with the weekend that my Mum and her siblings had decided to clear out my Grannys home and all her stuff. It took them a weekend and at 9.30 on Sunday night, myself and my sister went to my Grannys house. My return flight to Edinburgh was the next morning at 7am so this was my only chance to have a look at the few bits and pieces that were left as I wanted to have something of hers to keep.

We passed the skip which was piled high with her life and if it hadn't been raining and dark I would have found a way to climb into it and probably pulled half of it out again.

Her house still smelt of her and it was devastating to see her home so empty. I could still hear her voice. Still hear the familiar phrases she would greet me with. The familiar offers of tea and biscuits or fruit or sweets, ah sure you'll have something...

I can imagine that little trinket was so precious to her and was probably a prized possession of hers when she was young. It's tremendous precious to me now but for a very different reason and it's something I will treasure forever...