My bedroom closet is more storage room than closet. Among the stuff of my own life are the lives of others for which I've become caretaker, the set of shoulders to bear the burden of remembering, I am the lookout for these strangers poised on a delicate cusp between life and a final death.* In 2007 I took my first photography class and was immediately hoisted into the role of "family photographer." But I'd always been afflicted with nostalgia and a proclivity for looking backward, back farther than even my own lifespan. So when I announced what I was studying, a big Canon DSLR on one shoulder and a 35mm Asahi Pentax on the other, a collective sigh of relief was exhaled. I'd finally caught up to myself. Many of the photographs I have are from my mother who cares for the elderly and their estates. She is caretaker to the end of their lives as I am to their memories. Given my excursion into photography, I became the obvious destination for the orphaned photograph...