In this series, I’m exploring the handwriting of my parents, who both died when I was young. I’m dyslexic, and the marks they made in letters and notebooks remind me of the tension one feels when one recognizes language but struggles to comprehend it. Memory can work the same way— try as we may to reach into the past, we can never grasp it. This is a feeling I think we all share when recalling a first love, a first loss, the first sense of ourselves aging, and the first awareness that ultimately, we are the marks we leave behind.