|
2004-01-02 || 1:46 p.m. || hair || in our lives moms are forever and then you found yourself home on extended holiday (the diagnosis had been handed down, the terms applied to your mother's body, the processes explained and illustrated by library books and late-night internet searches. you made friends with the kind of fear you had always taken for granted, just out of reach, touched upon only very briefly in times of minor car accidents, break-ups, and that divorce scare a few years ago) in the living room with your mother who looks quite well and in good spirits wearing a wig that makes her look ten years younger. she looks beautiful, actually, in sweatpants and a beatific smile worn like a souvenir from the day she viewed an x-ray of death manifesting itself in her body and decided it wasn't enough evidence to keep her from living. you stop feeling so nervous, standing in front of her, and then as a joke, because she is this kind of woman, she pulls the wig off to scare you with a rapidly balding head otherwise famous for long long hair. i saw you lose your footing, the color drain from your face, but your mom laughed and your dad joined in and you're still here and so is she. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |