Last week, I didn’t post a blog article because my mother passed away.
This week, my mind is not focused on creativity, but on my loss. I try to hold the sense of my mother like a perfect sphere in my hands, but she is not simple or static enough.
She is deep, complex, and fluid. She slips through my fingers while I grasp at memories, trying to make them linger long enough to bring her back to me.
She is not reducible to a sentimental archetype, or an ideal of motherhood. She was a real person, who I love and miss deeply. Her gifts of intellect and sensitivity made her a rare instrument of perception. She was so much more than a simple sum of qualities.
So if I can leave the person reading this with a thought, it would be to share your real self with others. There is no ideal that moves us the way particular beauty pierces our everyday armor, and makes us see that we all matter, so much.