Memories are like photographs. Glimpses of times past, clues of uncertain futures, and questions of why you are the person you are. My mother was always taking photographs. She took photographs to keep the special moments fresh inside her. When she passed away I found photographs that I didn’t even know existed. I was surprised but sad at the same time because she was gone now and I could not ask her who these people were. As I was going through the stacks and stacks of photographs I came upon one that kept my gaze for a long time. I was trying to see if I could look into this person’s eyes and read her thoughts. The photograph was of my mother when she was about 17 years old. She looked sad and alone. Perhaps the exposure took a long time and she became tired of posing or perhaps she was angry with her then fiancé, my father. It is difficult to say what was in her mind.