Freya giggled as I pushed the swing higher. I ran round to the front and pretended to grab her feet and she flung her head back and chuckled. This is what I lived for - the happy moments - the memories that will stay forever.

I wonder if my mother still has these memories, if she ever pushed me on a swing, if she ever wanted to see me laugh. I can’t ask her these questions because I have no idea where she is. I don’t even know if she is still alive. That’s why my grandmother, my mum’s mum, raised me. Gran told me many years ago that my mother asked her to babysit one night and she never came to pick me up - just left me there and disappeared.

Gran must have plenty of memories of me as a little girl on a swing or out running. I have those memories. But Gran is in a care home suffering with dementia so I’m not sure what exactly she remembers. Sometimes when I visit she doesn’t remember my name. It’s hard to see her embarrassed when I remind her.

“More!” Freya shouts as the swing slows down.

I must have been in a daze because I forgot to continue pushing her. I hold my nose and count down from ten in a robotic voice then power up. I give one big push and Freya smiles. I don’t ever want to forget her prescious smile.