I Held Her Hand

Robert, Barbara, Ruth, Andrew, Naomi

My mom died two years ago today. One of the most profound things I’ve ever done and, probably, will ever do, was to walk with my mom to the liminal line between here on Earth and not. I told her it was okay to step off. Into the unknown. Alone. Maybe to be greeted by her parents. Who really knows? But cancer free. I stepped back and watched her go. I kissed her. I told her she was my rock.  I told her the shining light of her soul was separate from her wasted body. She told me she was afraid. So afraid. I held her hand.

My mother’s brother, Robert, passed away suddenly less than a year after she did. Maybe they met again in a place language has no words for.

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(The same images are in the slideshow and collage.)

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Beautiful Girl

"Clara" by Jean Philippe Richard
“Clara” by Jean Philippe Richard.

Recognizing art I’d seen in Soho, I was drawn into the BelAirFineArt gallery in Venice. Then I discovered “Clara.” This life-sized bronze sculptor by  Jean Philippe Richard struck me as beautiful and mysterious.

"Clara" by Jean Philippe Richard.
“Clara” by Jean Philippe Richard.

Beautiful is my mom. Mysterious is our time on earth. 

Barbara Ellen, my mom as a toddler.
Barbara Ellen, my mom as a toddler.

Me, my son and my mom.
Me, my son and my mom.

this-is-love-to-fly-toward-a-secret-skyto-cause-a-hundred-veils-to-fall-each-moment-first-to-let-go-of-life-in-the-end-to-take-a-step-without-feet-2

Birthday Girl

My mom and third granddaughter.
My mom and third granddaughter.

Today is my mom’s 75th birthday. What a milestone.