I remember when my great-great aunt died in the early 90s, her nephew came to the funeral prepared to take a photo like this of her body in the coffin. My mother nearly killed the poor guy. He wanted to take it back to his family, who couldn't attend the funeral, as some kind of closure. But my mother wouldn't allow it and was horrified he'd even ask.

My grandfather had many of these pictures of his family and friends. Always seemed strange to me, and I thought it was a personal habit of his. He was born in 1905, so it's actually nice to know that he wasn't crazy, that it was just a holdover from his parents (I assume).

I find this entire issue fascinating. Great post.

These photos are so very sad, so very poignant, so personal! And so very farmiliar to me.
My brother committed suicide by shooting himself point blank in his right eye...I was a few feet away, just outside his bedroom door when he shot himself....I attempted tp seal the wound and give him cpr. The smell of gunpowder and blood, the taste of his blood, the sight of him lifeless, the feelings of pure helplessness are burned into my being.....my scream when i first realized what he had done is pervasive and underlying every waking moment - it is simply, always with me.
I have four photos of him, in his casket, reconstructed, whole again. Our mortician did an amazing job and for a while I considered a similar career because of how much it helped family and friends to see him and be able to say goodbye at his wake. I refer to these photos on occasion for several reasons...to remind me that, yes it was real, this DID happen for sometimes I still don't believe what I saw, heard and did, or at least I don't want to.....to remind me of how short and precious life is...to recognize the pain that comes with this life - it is so important to let others know that they are not alone in this pain, as my brother thought he was...as an alcoholic now in recovery, to remind myself of the damage that drugs and alcohol have on all of us,their devestation....and finally, to see him resting, finally at peace and free from his demons.

It isn't just a holdover of the past. My family originated in Eastern Europe, and funeral photography was mailed overseas to and from my branch even recently. For those of the family who are American-born and haven't learned the language of our ancestors, a photo can easily bridge the language barrier.

these were common for a number of reasons. the number one being, at the time photos were done with long exposure only. all cameras were hand made and had such limitations that if you were photographing people, they had to be very still for relatively long periods. there were portrait studios set up with metal braces to hold the head and neck still as not to ruin the exposure. dead people were easier to photograph properly since they didn't move. there are also photos of the streets of paris where the city looks deserted because everything moved too fast to be captured on the photographic plates.

as well, at the time photography was very expensive. people had portraits done maybe once in their whole lives, and death was an occasion of such to have a portrait done for the memory of the person, and these photos were passed down through the family.

I am in my 30's born and raised in the U.S.- and have seen these kind of photos never associating them with anything morbid until my own grandmother's funeral. Our family photobox is full of postmortem pictures that I never thought unusual. My aunts both had their cameras at my grandmothers wake and were taking pictures of her in the casket. My husband pulled me to the side a little creeped out wondering what the heck they were doing. I guess it would seem strange to some, but it seemed to offer consolation to members in my family-- it was common to have funeral photos paired with an obituary and usually a poem or bible verse laminated and used as book marks.