In the past two years of the COVID-19 pandemic, loss has been part of the lives of millions. In “How we remember them”, we reflect on how we process loss and the things – tangible and intangible – that remind us of those we have lost. It is a picture frame, a hideous brownish-orange plastic, a product of the 1970s, purchased at Kmart or Zayre or some other store that went out of business decades ago. These stores offered bargains, blue-light specials, and financial reprieve to struggling single mothers and down-on-their-luck families.I am no more than three in the pictures that are held together with tape in the frame that is almost as old as I am, 47. There are 10 images in total. When I remove the back of the frame, I see the handwriting of my foster mother, Esther. It tells the who, when, and sometimes where of the picture. I star in several and play a supporting role in others, alongside Esther, my foster brother, my biological brother, my grandmother, and a variety of inanimate objects that helped define who I was: an eye patch that earned me the nickname “pirate”, a baby doll dress that serves as a hat, a pair of yellow sunglasses, and a wooden dog that I pulled along with a string.
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