It is what it is. It is about longing and belonging. Always both-and, never, no, never either-or.
And then the intertwined act of remembering, repeating and working-through. Mother and a son, mother and the grandchildren, son and his children, not to forget father, wife, son in-law and so on and on. Circulation of memories owned and let loose, memories borrowed and won back. The inner circle of it is all, the inner circle of life, and yes, death.
Say what you will, claim what you believe in and turn your back to what you find in front of yourself. Remember how to forget and try to forget your regrets. Do it now, do it tomorrow and recall what it felt like the day before. It will remain – in light, and in a certain peculiar kind of light that burns on, cares for and turns towards for yet another shivering grasp of a light on a light.