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I'm so sorry.Back when Ma was dying of cancer, she trotted out naked from her bedroom and asked me to take her picture. She was fifty. She held a small brown plastic glass in her hand...for some reason...and she stood there by the closet doors as I snapped a pic with this Canon AE-1 that I picked up on board the Hepburn. The old man was on the couch...or his easy chair...a Lazy-Boy, in the living room, saw her walk through not a stitch of clothing on. My younger brother was somewhere nearby. She was also bald, chemo radiation half a dozen one three four of the other. So...click!...made sure she heard it...I think she had her dentures soaking in the bathroom. I told her to go to bed now, that she needed her rest. She agreed. She used to ask the doctors if they were in the book. If they weren't in the book, no way were they touching her. She lasted until October, lying immobile on this sheepskin, fleecy thingy we placed on the bed...her last two weeks or two months no way did we know what she was trying to tell us nor did we know if she knew what we told her...that morning...I go downstairs, sisters already by her side holding one hand, her free hand waving goodbye across the fleece. I tell my younger brother...he's in the kitchen looking out the window...I think Ma is having trouble breathing (translation: she's getting ready to die, let's go be with her)...so, we did...and she continued to wave goodbye to us and then she was gone. She was fifty. I'm four years older than she was when she died. Dad and my younger brother are also gone. Me? C'est la vie. I'd like to believe she knew she was going, that she was indeed waving good-bye. I rewound the film and double-exposed Ma's photo...and the next day we visited Marquette General and told them the meds are messing with her.
Back when Ma was dying of cancer, she trotted out naked from her bedroom and asked me to take her picture. She was fifty. She held a small brown plastic glass in her hand...for some reason...and she stood there by the closet doors as I snapped a pic with this Canon AE-1 that I picked up on board the Hepburn. The old man was on the couch...or his easy chair...a Lazy-Boy, in the living room, saw her walk through not a stitch of clothing on. My younger brother was somewhere nearby. She was also bald, chemo radiation half a dozen one three four of the other. So...click!...made sure she heard it...I think she had her dentures soaking in the bathroom. I told her to go to bed now, that she needed her rest. She agreed. She used to ask the doctors if they were in the book. If they weren't in the book, no way were they touching her. She lasted until October, lying immobile on this sheepskin, fleecy thingy we placed on the bed...her last two weeks or two months no way did we know what she was trying to tell us nor did we know if she knew what we told her...that morning...I go downstairs, sisters already by her side holding one hand, her free hand waving goodbye across the fleece. I tell my younger brother...he's in the kitchen looking out the window...I think Ma is having trouble breathing (translation: she's getting ready to die, let's go be with her)...so, we did...and she continued to wave goodbye to us and then she was gone. She was fifty. I'm four years older than she was when she died. Dad and my younger brother are also gone. Me? C'est la vie. I'd like to believe she knew she was going, that she was indeed waving good-bye. I rewound the film and double-exposed Ma's photo...and the next day we visited Marquette General and told them the meds are messing with her.