Rose

Hello, sweetheart. If you're listening to this, I hope it means you're thinking of me — and that makes me happy, because I've been thinking of you too.

I want to tell you about the kitchen. Not just any kitchen — my mother's kitchen, the one with the yellow curtains and the radio that never quite got good reception. That's where I learned to make her apple cake, the one your mother makes every October, though she'll never admit she got the recipe wrong the first three times.

I used to think recipes were about the food. They're not. They're about the person standing next to you while you're making it — the stories, the laughing, the flour on the counter you'll be finding for a week.

So here's my wish for you: don't just save the recipe. Save the person who gave it to you. Ask them questions. Record their voice. Because one day, sweetheart, a voice like this — a little worn, a little warm — might be exactly what you need to hear again.

This is an example — with a real memorial, family and friends can submit questions like this one to be asked as a surprise during a recording session.

Try recording your own memory.

Maybe something a loved one always used to say. See what it feels like — nothing you record here is saved.

Say something you'd want someone to remember about you.

Nothing is saved. This is just for you to try.