Ali Mobasser

Afsaneh Box II | 2014

As the paramedics took Afsaneh out of the front door she asked me to grab her handbag. I held her hand in the ambulance and made a dumb joke about the traffic on Putney High Street as we sped past it. What really stays with me from that journey is the fear in in my aunt's eyes as she stared at me helplessly.

At the hospital the doctors managed to stabilise her blood pressure and a recovery was expected. We would return in the morning. The final expression I saw from my aunt was a wonderful surprised smile as my one year old son for the first time managed to string a full sentence together and said, “Bye-Bye Afi”. None one was expecting the second stroke, less than an hour after we had left.

On August 13, 2013, Afsaneh's heart stopped. She was fifty-six years of age. As we were leaving the hospital my father and I were handed a plastic bag that contained Afsaneh's personal belongings.

Six months on, I made the decision to photograph the contents of the bag, placing the objects onto the bed linen she had been sleeping on. This series is my document of Afsaneh's final day.
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