I sought by every means to try to anchor Francesco's mind to real, solid things, to all that had been our life together, to that past that for me was still alive and was part of my present but for him had now vanished. I tried to revive his memories, to live again with him the experiences that had deeply marked our existence and tried anything that would help me reach that aim. One day I thought about our photographs.
We had taken masses of photos during the years in which we worked as photographers for the United Nations, and although a large part of them were in the hands of the agencies who sold them on, we still had a great number at home. I thought I might use them to arouse his interest, take him back to a time when he was alive, enthusiastic, carried away by his ardent need for adventure, in short, the time when we made our long journeys. I had a special box of slides of a rather large size that could easily be seen when held up to the light. There were also hundreds of photographs in black and white. And so, with these photos I tried to recall with him the most important phases of our trips, the moments that were engraved most deeply in our memories. For instance, on many occasions, I used the pictures taken during our first trip to the Sahara.
I showed Francesco the photos one by one, describing to him the various stages of our journey.