I have onlyone photo of my mother. Many of her exist, just not with me. No matter. This one is my ultimate favorite. Its not even a very good photo. You can see she has the same color silver hair that I now have (and actually have had for quite awhile). We don't have the same eyes. Both are brown, but hers were large and doe-like. Mine are ho-hum. We do not look much alike really, but there is something there that does make us look related.
Like I said, it's not much as photos go. She is sitting in a shaker rocker with then toddler, Squeaky on one knee and a homely, lanky Santa she picked up at a craft fair or flea market on the other knee. Squeaky is looking up into grandma's face and she is looking down into his. What I love about this photo is that look... absolute love, without condition, without fear of it ever passing away, love as solid as the earth we stand on that abides well beyond the day she died.
That look, is the face of the mother I remember. I don't need an Olan Mills studio shot of my mother. You would see how she looked. But in my little instant camera picture, in its dusty wooden frame, you see how she was.
Happy Mothers Day all you Mothers!
A quick aside: The lung reptile is slain, thanks to drugs and a wonderful bowl of virtual chili verdi!
I am in sanctuary... where else? I am being spoiled rotten. Its going to be a great day.
deadwood be done
1 year ago