53 Week Memory Prompts: Intro and Week One

 Memories are made in ordinary moments, yet they often fade if we don’t pause to notice them. The purpose of these 53 memory prompts is to help you slow down, reflect, and capture the stories that make up your life and your family’s story, one small moment at a time.

With one prompt for each week of the year, you’ll create a gentle rhythm of remembering. By the end of the year, you won’t just have answered 53 questions, you’ll have 53 preserved memories. Some may be brief, others detailed. Some may surprise you. All of them matter.

There is no right or wrong way to record your memories. You might choose to write with pen and paper, type them into a document, record your voice, film a short video, or even share them through photos and captions. What matters most is that you capture them in a way that feels natural and meaningful to you.

These prompts are not meant to be overwhelming or perfect. They are an invitation—to remember, to reflect, and to leave behind pieces of your story for yourself and for those who come after you. One memory at a time, you are creating something lasting.

Week One: Think of the oldest relative you knew growing up. What memory of them still stays with you?

Passing my new baby sister to the next sibling to hold, I noticed my Grandpa walking through the living room door. Immediately, I knew this was unusual. Grandad never came into our house—or at least I don’t remember him ever doing so. He would usually wait in the car while my Nan finished whatever errand they were running.

I wonder now if it was too painful for him to get in and out of the vehicle. At home, he had a big red chair where he always sat, and I wonder if the furniture in our house felt too uncomfortable for him. Either way, that day he walked—hobbled—into our living room and said, “Where’s my little granddaughter?”

That is the extent of my memory. I don’t remember whether my mum brought my sister over for him to see or if he sat down and held her. All I remember is watching him walk through the living room door and asking where the baby was. Hearing him speak about his granddaughter with such love and admiration was deeply touching.

Two months later, he passed away.

I have heard many stories about my Grandad—so many that I can picture them clearly in my mind. Sometimes I wonder whether those images come from my own memory or from stories I’ve heard told so often that they feel like mine. This memory, however, I know is truly my own, and I hold on to it dearly.
Grandad was a good man, loved fiercely by my Nan, my aunt, and my mum. I wish I had more memories of him to share, but I cherish the one I have—and the memories held by my siblings, cousins, and other family members who loved him too.