Thoughts about traveling. About going. About how that is that we go. Here, There.
When Mom was ill, I took many photos. Images were so important to me. To record. I wanted to be able to relive moments without the context of expectation. Then, after she left, I looked and thought, I can't publish these. She wouldn't want that. I put them away. Not even wanting to look anymore. Today I share this one. Mom, looking for something in the pantry closet. She shortly after forgot what she was looking for. We put a little LED lamp in there for her. She could hardly see. When I first took the photo, well, it spooked me. Now some things hauntingly beautiful have caught me.
The light. Its coldness. Her, walking into it.
Her hair, distorted by laying down so much . Arranged as if a big wind blew in behind her, pushing her forward.
The door. Open. The writings inside record the heights of children through the years. Lines drawn and dated. Names. Us. Me, My 2 brothers. Then my son, my nephews. So many marks. There. To keep her from falling backward.
Her. There. In between. Held between past and future. Present. How going has a sense of that.
The familiarity. The place. Mom. The journey story.
She won't mind. That I have continued it.
