A friend of mine lost her mother in 2020, unrelated to Covid, but it happened as the pandemic escalated. She knew that my mother had died three years prior, and that I loved old houses and old things. She invited me to come visit her mother’s house with her. As I walked through, I felt a powerful reminiscence for my own mother’s home. The quilts and the dishes and the furniture seemed familiar, even though this was my first time in that house. I asked if I could take photographs there. As my friend sorted through the papers and letters that her mother had accumulated over the years, I made my way through the rooms, reacting to the invisible presence of her mother, and somehow feeling a connection to my own mother. I imagine that we fill a home with our essence, and it lingers even after we are gone. As she pointed out to me, we were both orphans now. The pandemic made it all feel lonelier. It was a great solace for me to make these photographs of this empty house full of quiet spirit.