There’s a box that sits in the broom closet at the front of my house. The box is full of photographs—worn, curled, ripped, or faded, but all discernible nonetheless. These pictures capture the memories of times that feel especially long gone; they are the physical evidence of the memories my family had before leaving New Orleans forever after Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Every several months, my siblings and I rifle through this dusty box and comment on how young our parents looked or the weird faces we made as children. I’d always noticed the photographs taken during a specific occasion. My favorite series was from my sister’s first birthday party: in nearly every photo was a giant, bright red Elmo hanging out like another member of the family. When I was packing for college, I stuck a photo of that day into my bag, and it’s lived on my wall ever since.