Skip to main content

Ingrid Bergman Looms Above Us

It seems I get to keep my mother. For now, but that's how it is for all of us, for now. That is the only promise the universe can keep. Things must change, change is loss, but sometimes, loss pivets on a high heel, and winks.

I watched 5 nurses blow needles in my mother's arm - I watched her cry until her tears and mouth were in slow motion. I held her papery hand in my own, smoothing back her hair and watching as the steel and cream walls of the hospital began to twist. The last nurse to finally succeed was hovering above her when I noticed Casablanca was on. I looked at her and said, "I've never seen this movie before". And in her weakened words she said, "I have, seven times."

And seven my friends, is the number of divinity and hope.

side note: Ingrid Bergman is Isabella Rossellini's mother, she passed away when Isabella was 29 years old.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

inspired by the pursuit of happiness

I have partially borrowed the title from the recent film, "The Pursuit of Happyness", I really loved the narration style, and how the film would stop when he'd describe parts of his life, such as: this is the part I call "running". Plus, the film and true story took place in lovely San Francisco, and that is where my husband and I were for 5 days and 4 nights. So. . . . .this is the part I call, getting off the plane, and how the F to we get to the city? A minor, but essential detail I failed to plan or even think of when booking the trip. Planning, something I just skipped so in turn, we were a little confused, a little lost, and because of it, it turned out our room was communal living. That is the part I will call, are you f''n serious? We were tired, we were hungry, and we'd been on 3-hr flight, and a quite speedy train for about 45 minutes, and the room which appeared modern spacious online, turned out to be a box, probably 10x12 feet if that. T...

a letter to each of you.

I'm so happy I catalogued each of your looks as they progressed.  I have rested my head in my palm for half hours, just documenting each eyelash, the plump of your cheeks, the sweet slice of chubbiness under your chin.  I've told you how much I love your teeth, and studied strands of hair.  I know the exact brown of your eyes, every little amber fleck, and I love as they grow lighter as you laugh, and dark chocolate when you get frustrated.  how the light in the room looks for you.  and the look in your eye when you're about to jump and make my heart drop out of my own chest.  but it's always too late when I say no.  and you always land.  all of this is called love.  and I want to say thank you for letting me be your auntie.   Love,  nano