On June 8th 2011 my father was 64 years old. He sat down in the kitchen that we shared. My parents lived upstairs. My husband, me and our three month old daughter lived downstairs. We were just about to have dinner, the time was seven thirty. Suddenly my father said 'My arm is tingling' he sweated, he looked confused. In the ten meters from the kitchen to the sofa my father crumbled in our arms. My husband held him up under one arm and shoulder and I the other. My mother held her grand-daughter tight. He started hitting the side of his head, indicating the pain was in his head and not his heart. Informative during chaos as always, somehow calming us down by not panicking himself. Rushed calls were made to my brother and his family who came straight over. Then surrealistic moments with ambulance driver fumbling with the gurney and decisions which hospital to go to. We reached Rashid Hopsital within 12 minutes. My father had suffered a massive stroke I brought my camera to the hospital because I have a camera with me everywhere. I took some photos. My father was ok with it. He encouraged it as it meant he could see his progress. The first photo is taken more than a month after his stroke. We used my camera for him to hold. We used it for dexterity training. Every time we used the camera he took a picture of me, or me and a nurse. I took photographs of him. A project formed and I started seeing these moments where my mother held him up as he stood again for the first time and it was hope in an otherwise very slow recovery. These photographs are the last thirteen months of shared memories.