Dying Matters: reflections on death – in pictures

Anne Warnett's son Pete died a year ago. "I remember once having a discussion with him about religion or what sort of funeral service he wanted. I can't remember who brought it up, me or him. I think it began by him asking me whether I thought God or heaven existed. I am not a religious person, and I don't think Pete was either, so together we decided on what kind of funeral he wanted. After he died, we arranged a humanist service that was conducted by a wonderful man, not a priest or a vicar, just a normal person. But he did a wonderful job and it was more like a remembrance or celebration of his life, than a funeral. We played Nessun Dorma and Red Red Robin as the exit song." Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Bernard Palmer: "My wife Ivy died 14 years ago. Soon after we moved into here I came into the sitting room and she was crying. I said, 'Oh, what's the matter?' and she said, 'I think I've got cancer.' What can you say? Not much other than, 'No, of course you haven't!' That was in February 1998. Ivy died on the 8 April 1998. It was a terrible time. I still miss her daily. Soon after my wife died I used to go to the hospice every couple of weeks and take flowers, they allowed me to put them on the table next to the bed she was in. Sometimes, all the patients want is to talk to someone away from their family, because that way there isn't that pressure or avoidance. Talking to someone outside of that circle allows them to leave their life for a bit." Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Brian Hennell was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia. "In February 2009, our sons persuaded us to downsize and relocate to the Cotswolds. In July of 2011 I was also diagnosed with an aggressive prostate cancer. This second diagnosis rocked our lives. Our dog still needs his walks, and the quiet beauty of where we now live makes a huge difference to my quality of life and helps me retain some sense of normality." Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Jim Edwards has end-stage emphysema. "The St Helena's hospice day centre I attend has a special bath for my weekly body wash and pamper! I'd never seen anything like it before. Now, quite often, it forms the highlight of my week." Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Mr and Mrs Das are a Bangladeshi couple living on Brick Lane in east London. They receive support from a charity called Majlish - one of the leading providers of culturally appropriate homecare services in London. Mr Das has end stage Parkinson's and two volunteers come in daily to help clean and wash him - enabling his wife to have small snippets of respite when she pops out to the local shops. Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Ruth: "My Dad died on 17 October 2009, two days after we came back from Spain. We all had a great holiday. It was a shock for me. My Mum and me returned from shopping, I was first in the house. My Dad had collapsed, the paramedics tried to save him but sadly were unsuccessful. Those first days after were dreadful, but my Mum and family involved me in every aspect of our sad bereavement. It was suggested I start a memory box and in it I put personal items that belonged to my dad. I look into it and find this very comforting. We are also having a DVD made of my Dad's life. I treasure all the lovely memories. And I will always love my Dad. I will always remain his little girl." Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Stella Amognokpa: "I was born in Nigeria but came to the UK in 1975. I visit homes that have Nigerians living there, I go and sit down with them, chat with them. They are very happy getting to speak their language again. It makes them feel valued, and making somebody happy gives me happiness. Nigerians talk about death openly: in the family, at church. In England, people don't talk about it, they fear it, but there's no running away from it. For me, death is something that is part of life, it's inevitable. I think the fact that I am religious also changes the way I look at death and life, because in my faith, death is only part of a process." Photograph: Nadia Bettega

Wendy Minett: "I lost my daughter a few years ago. They never mentioned the word cancer - I'm not sure what the reasoning was. When we found out, I said to Helen, 'Terrible news, isn't it? I wasn't expecting that.' She said, 'No, neither was I.' It wasn't really something we had talked about between ourselves. The last couple of weeks, she rapidly declined. I had just said goodnight to her and she went to sleep and she died. I think she died peacefully and I was glad for that, and that she was here at home. I think people found it hard to know what to say, when she was poorly, or even afterwards. I understand it's difficult but it helped a lot when people came round for a chat. I like to talk about Helen. I like to think that she is still around me in some ways; she is still with me. She is with all of us." Photograph: Nadia Bettega