My Mom hated having pictures taken of her. Despite that, she gave cameras to people who would inevitably train them on her from time to time.

I don’t believe in an immortal soul – when you’re dead, you’re dead. (If I’m wrong, I owe you a coke.) Still, I marvel at the immortality in photographs. Yes, she lives in my memory, her voice in my head and, sometimes, coming out of my mouth, but here she is caught once so lively.

A remembrance on the 25th anniversary of her death.

My Mom 12 photos