In September 2009 my mother, Sue Miles, was diagnosed with lung cancer and a brain tumour. While I was trying to come to terms with the fact she was dying, I decided I wanted, or maybe needed, to document the time she had left. I didn’t want to create a graphic portrayal of her death, it would have been impossible and wrong to focus only on the dying part, but rather I wanted to photograph our last months together. I looked at the things that made her uniquely her, the details in her house I thought I knew so well, the things that would also be gone when she was. Her love of flowers was a beautiful part of her personality; the house was always full of them, and as I photographed them I realised they were symbolic of what was happening - they represented happiness, love, kindness and generosity, but also isolation, decay, and finally death.
After running a successful Kickstarter campaign, Tulip has been published into a beautiful book by Dewi Lewis Publishing.
Available to buy here now!
The project has been shortlisted for several prestigious awards including The European Publishers Award For Photography, The Deutsche Bank Photography Award, Lucie Foundation and the Emergentes DST International Photography Award.
My mothers favourite flower.
Post chemo.
Late night hospital visits.
My Mum has the most amazing blue eyes
Mum insists the hallway light is kept on all night. When she’s in hospital my brother turns it off, and it reminds me of what it might be like without her.
The garden chairs she never got to use.
All she felt like eating today.
As her mobility declines Mum stays in her room more and more. Her windowsill becomes a substitute for the garden.
Mum spilt her coffee this morning, I felt ashamed taking this photograph. I had to wait for her to leave the room, and then I felt even worse.
Mum never really asks for help, in fact she refuses it. She was determined to try and do as much for herself as possible, and never lets on how hard it is for her.
30th September. One year since Mum was diagnosed. Her condition has deteriorated and she’s been admitted to the Marie Curie hospice for two week’s respite care. I worry looking at her empty bed, will she ever come home?
7th October. Last night we were told Mum only has a week to live. Today I looked at the tomatoes we planted together and wondered will she ever see them ripen?
As my Mum lay dying, I thought about whether I wanted to take pictures of her. I didn’t want to show her suffering.
9th October 6am. My Mum died last night. Looking out of her bedroom window, I realise this is the start of the first day of my life without her.
Breakfast with Mum.