Mama
Mama is an exploration of the beauty of a dying loved one.
How can we process death as it slowly fades in?
What do we do with our eyes as we watch them, day in and out, lose color?
She was named “success” and loved the color blue. She had a wicked sense of humor and a big heart. We loved to talk about cooking and shop together, for books, clothes and bargains. She battled cancer and won twice. Stayed around three years longer than doctors gave her. One morning she caught a shooting star and floated off to the heavens. She will twinkle twice, the first of July and the ides of January — when she borrowed her first breath and when she returned it last.
You still got it
Late into my mom’s illness, she refused to wear make up. Once, I convinced her to do her hair and put on some make up, she resisted all along. Yet, when we were done, she held the mirror before her and looked at herself with her blue shawl. She turned left and turned right, followed by the slightest smile of approval.