Written two years before my mother's death. Is one's essence defined by the age of the body or their culture, economic status or gender? What are we without context time, gender and culture? My mother has gone through a true metamorphosis and continues to do so. She wears different costumes of the mind. Each costume is unique and from a different time in her life; drawing upon different life experiences. Alzheimer's disease has sponsored my mother's time travel. My mother was the provider of the family, thanklessly working two sometimes three jobs to make ends meet. Now her life has turned itself upon its head for she is completely dependent upon the family for her basic survival needs. I am painfully aware of my mother's constantly changing context of time, emotion and libido. The self my mother is most ill at ease with, is within the glare of the here and now. Although I feel relieved each time she returns, it is a selfish relief for her face is fil...
I write to remember, to question, and to connect. Here you’ll find essays, stories, and fragments of life — all the ways I try to make sense of the world, one sentence at a time.