Recently, I’ve started the monumental task of sorting through our photos – now numbering in thousands – and working out what is there. Who is there. And some of its easy, and jolts back memories of my life, presumed missing or lost.  Some is fuzzy – traces of familiar places or faces, but not names. And some is impossible. Photos of places I know my parents visited when they were first together. People who seemed cherished, loved even. People who look like other people.

A piece written to mark the 17th anniversary of my mother’s death as part of The Remembering Project.