I wish I could truly explain what a beautiful thing it is to witness the dying of a star. A woman going supernova before your eyes. Mingled with your interminable grief, amid the quarry of lonely, foggy abyss, you see light. Light in neons of pink and green, yellow and orange bursts that climb the cliff face you once gazed at from above. Rays of passion and hope stream all around you. Soaring into the heavens.
When my mother still had her words, when she still experienced lucidity from time to time, she giggled curiously and said to me: I keep wanting to ask you what your mother was like. Once again, she steals my breath away. I gasped and then smiled: Any time you want to know about mother, just ask. I would love to tell you about her. If you don't know who my mother is, you should ask. I mean who she really is.
She is courageous. She is confident, but kind. She is impatient with incompetence, yet unconditionally accepting when you're ready to learn. She can make herself heard any time she chooses. She insists upon her dignity, her composure and she will never concede a fight. And that was just this morning.
If you're the poor fool who mistakes her beauty (though Aphrodite incarnate she may be) for her greatest strength, you will learn the hard way that when you enter a staring contest with this woman, you have one of two fates: you will either run in fear with the knowledge that she can see right through you or you will fall in love with her for that very reason. She shines her light in the darkness and the dark things scatter or become light. She is sexy and knows what to do with it. She is witty, strategic, discerning and diligent. It's hard not to smile when you think of her. It's impossible not to want more of her the more you get.
All my life, people have told me how much I look like my mother. And all my life, I've felt so honored by the compliment. I endeavor to this day to deserve such a comparison. She had a few days a few days ago that were wrought with distress, anger and criticism--mostly directed toward me. As her voice echoes in my being at the slightest whisper, her words struck deep and sharp. And in that crushing moment, I felt a keen rejoicing at the sheer veracity of this woman. She fights even now. And even now, I would stand in the fire again in an instant, just to hear her voice.
There are so few moments in our lives when the Fates call us to attention. Life screams at you to stretch and adapt. To be humbled and to have hope. To gaze upon the light and reflect once more into our very being. Though the image of oneself can be daunting, fearful even, the message is not one of obligation, expectation or even transcendence. It is healing. A dying star brings healing.