October 10, 2013 [Gravity]
When I was eighteen or so, my mother was ill—well, she was often not well, one thing and another, a way of life more than a mere illness—something that comes on most of us and changes us completely, until one day we're surprised by better health as the sickness, furtive in the growing light, shrugs off our shoulders and it's as if we haven't had a sick day in our life.
It wasn't like that for her. Not feeling well was as good as it got. And when I was in my late teens the heavy wet clay of sickness had started to solidify around her, and she seemed barely able to move, let alone to make it to the doctor to hear him tell her to lay off the salt. And I didn't know this story until years later when she finally told me:
It was late, after midnight, and she lay awake in a sleepless stupor, not able to move, her arms and legs rock-still, the room still as well. She felt a dip at the foot of the bed, as though a smallish adult had sat down. And that's what it was, my…
It wasn't like that for her. Not feeling well was as good as it got. And when I was in my late teens the heavy wet clay of sickness had started to solidify around her, and she seemed barely able to move, let alone to make it to the doctor to hear him tell her to lay off the salt. And I didn't know this story until years later when she finally told me:
It was late, after midnight, and she lay awake in a sleepless stupor, not able to move, her arms and legs rock-still, the room still as well. She felt a dip at the foot of the bed, as though a smallish adult had sat down. And that's what it was, my…
