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‘I Remember’ is a collective biography of grief and loss in the 21st century. It is a collaboration, a narrative landscape, an evolving archive, a scrolling poem.

What are you losing?
How are you grieving?
What do you remember?
Who have you lost?

This site is collecting memories and imaginaries for us all.

Please add yours.

I would be immensely grateful for contributions on death and grief in the time of Covid-19, especially by patients, their loved ones, medical professionals and key workers.

If you would like to take part in our one to one workshops please email zoe@iremember.co

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Keywords

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Grief - A Work in Progress

The I Remember site is part of Grief – A Work in Progress, a series of audience participatory interventions that explore, record and archive the anatomy of loss in the 21st century.

Visit Grief – A Work in Progress

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Husband

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I remember

being me.

Jan S.

I remember

being me.

Jan S.

the noise...

Jan S.

I remember

the noise I made when the doctors told me there was nothing they could do. We woke up as a normal happy family that day and we went to bed broken.

Jan S.

the first...

Jan S.

I remember

the first flat we lived in together and how happy we were. The things we did before we had children: watching Newcastle play, arty farty films, Chekhov plays. We thought we were pretty cool.

Jan S.

cocktails in...

Alex R.

I remember

cocktails in the Shard to forget about the latest relapse. Crying on the train, tube and bus, anywhere but home because I didn't want our babies to see me cry.

Alex R.

what it...

Alex R.

I remember

what it felt like to live instead of just existing. The safety and sanctuary of his unconditional love. How complete I felt whenever we were together.

Alex R.

his final...

Alex R.

I remember

his final breath. Trying to clean lung fluid off my wedding ring. Deciding to only live in the present, here and now - the future too scary and uncertain.

Alex R.

the pillar...

Alex R.

I remember

the pillar I hit after the diagnosis and the pain in my hand. How happy he was to see me when I got to the hospital every morning.

Alex R.

the day...

Jan S.

I remember

the day I met you, I wrote my phone number down and gave it to you. You screwed it into a ball and threw it over your shoulder, it made me laugh. When I saw you again, you had the paper in your wallet.

Jan S.