Yesterday morning my grandmother Erica died at the age of 95.
As a curious coincidence, someone noticed that her twin brother died a few weeks after his beloved dog. The same happened to Erica and her old cat: they lived together for almost eighteen years.
Most of the best shots I have of my grandmother come from the worst camera, the worst lens, or both. Discussing this with a friend, we agreed that on the average, you are not ready, but you shoot anyway.
The first smiling portrait above is actually seriously blurred: I was just testing the gear, I never really meant to take a photo, but nonetheless I never deleted it.
Now it will help me remember, and I believe this is the point of it all.