My mom saved every picture, even the bad ones. Blurry birthdays, cousins with eyes closed, old cars in the background, people standing too far from the camera, all of it. I used to make fun of her for keeping boxes of photos.
Then she got sick, and suddenly those boxes were not clutter anymore. They were proof. Proof that we had been here, that people loved each other, that somebody thought these moments mattered enough to keep.
I placed this hex because I am the one holding the pictures now. I do not know every name yet, but I am trying. New Mexico is where our family story lives, even the parts we almost forgot.