This is the last photograph of her and I.
She passed away, beautifully and peacefully, on the second of September.
This photograph was taken a week before she died, at the celebration we had for her 80th birthday. Everyone she loved, and who mattered to her, was there. Most people who came knew they wouldn't see her again, but it was a happy occassion all the same.
I didn't know when my lovely niece took this photograph what an important moment it was. I was only interested in kissing my Mum. She was so beautiful and sick and tired and fragile and strong that day.
I've been waiting for the right time to write about her here, and I haven't been able to write anything else until I did.
All of sudden it feels like time.
Tommorrow is three months and thirteen Saturdays since I stood beside my father and held her hand and smoothed her brow and watched her take her last gentle breath.
Yesterday I wrote an epic essay length post, which took me hours and which I then deleted. It wasn't right to share all those words here. I have been writing so much in my diary my hand hurts some mornings. But all of that will remain private. For me alone. Grief's like that, eh. You have to find a way through it yourself, no matter how much love you have around you.
Today I decided that instead of words, it feels right to me that my tribute to my Mum who I loved so deeply and who was there for me my entire life, is made up instead of this random series of pictures. They were never meant to be any kind of photo essay, but it feels right to me that they've come together - imperfectly and just because my heart says yes to the idea.
So here they are.
These photos are for you, Mum. This is how I've felt since you left. It hasn't all been sad. As you well know, life, thank christ, doesn't work that way.
When I made this artwork, for the exhibition I had about you, Mum, I didn't write what I truly meant by it. It was too painful to write the words then.
I made this artwork imagining you gone.
Imagining you up there in the ether, free of pain, watching us all from a beautiful sky.
I wanted to pull this from the show; I disliked it because it hurt me to look at it. Right now today, I'm grateful I made this work for you to see. I suspect that all along you knew exactly what I meant. Right down deep, you always understood me perfectly.
I know you can see that sky, Mum. I know you're there.
You looked after all of us your whole life. You deserve a bit of blue.
Rest easy, and have some long lovely walks with Portia.
I love you.
- Dec 14, 2017 Counterpoint Dec 14, 2017
- Dec 14, 2017 Gaps and distance Dec 14, 2017
- Dec 12, 2017 These red threads they tie us so beautifully Dec 12, 2017
- Dec 11, 2017 It's a dog's life Dec 11, 2017
- Dec 10, 2017 This too will pass Dec 10, 2017
- Dec 9, 2017 Taking it all down Dec 9, 2017
- Dec 8, 2017 Tie a yellow ribbon Dec 8, 2017
- Dec 7, 2017 Such a beautiful dream Dec 7, 2017
- Dec 6, 2017 This is what I hold on to Dec 6, 2017
- Dec 1, 2017 In loving memory Dec 1, 2017