When my mum was ill she told me that our family dies young and my uncle told me there’s a history of depression in the men in our family. Both things turned out to be true because my mum died shortly after and my dad, in his depression, drank himself to death.

Cursed on my mothers side, doomed on my fathers.

Over the course of five years I lost the majority of my family, grief and the question of mortality has haunted me ever since.

What does it mean to live, what does it mean to die?

What do we leave behind and how are we remembered?

How do we honour those we’ve lost and how do we go on?