Today, I held in my hands the photo of an old man as a baby.

The old man,

Smiling, kind,

Dementia

eroding his present

he

pointed-out his

Grandma

and his

Mum

and

Did not at first recognise

himself

or,

his

Dad,

Standing in the centre,

Protective,

Big hair.

When I see family pictures, the old folk I imagine are my grandfather’s age and so on; I reflect my personal family catalogue onto theirs;

Ben was born 1910, Michael 1890.

My old man likely born in the 30’s.

He, the same generation as my parents, except he is now, today, the old man and his folks have gone as have mine and we are suspended in a moment like no other.