Just realised that I've contrived to get the anniversary of Mum's death wrong by a day for a few years now, thinking it was 9 April when it was a day earlier. Not sure how the miscalculation came about, but I don't think she'd mind. I figured out the error when I realised I'd completely lost track of how many years it had been since she left us. To be honest I was shocked to find it's six years. It doesn't feel anything like that long.
But that's true of all memories of the past, I suppose, especially those connected to those we love, or loved. (Both really.)
For a long time I wasn't really all that interested in photographs as a way of preserving the past since I didn't need them as a way of remembering people who'd gone before. Now I see their value, but that's not because I'm in danger of forgetting. Understandably people talk of memories fading - but they don't. If anything, my memories of Gertrude Connor (nee Wardle) have increased in intensity.
You might lose track, but you don't lose sight of the folks on the track.