Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide

There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

– Edna St. Vincent Millay

The anthropologist and photographer Lye Tuck-Po recently posted an essay discussing why she exhibits so many photos of the children of the Batek people of Malaysia, and so few of Batek adults. It’s a touching exploration of loss, frailty, memory and the problematic nature of photography and publicity in traditional culture: "When They Die Young." Her essay set my mood for processing and captioning this image. I think the poem above gets at some of the emotion involved.