A part of bereavement comes from inhabiting the space of the person who has died, and consideration of their things. My brother and I found it difficult to throw out anything that belonged to our mother, after she was ill. Scraps of paper with her handwriting... the last bottle of gin. We both lived in her house and gradually used up the things that were hers. I tried to record the minutiae of differences and similarities I came across, just in case I forget. I use(d) her makeup even though we had different skin tones; bottles of her expensive conditioner; packets of porridge from her illness. I photocopied/photocopy the packaging of these items, bit by bit, as they are finally finished, to keep a low-fi inventory of everything. As I consume something else a further photocopy is added, and so on. The archive of 'stuff' is ongoing and in doing so I move forward, thing by thing.