Life as an Extreme Sport

pictures don’t tell words, they tell stories

Mom has slipped further away. Her breathing is more apnea than oxygen, and we have spent the evening upstairs, the three of us talking, giving her space. Following after Tracy, I pick up a photo album to flip through, to select pictures for the memorial/reception. The first two photos in this album are Dad, sanding a white crib in a backyard that looks familiar. The clothes scream the 70s, and my eyes drift down the page to the third photo, a photo of my mother.

A photo of my mother, very pregnant. Very pregnant with me.