Collage

Yesterday, my mother, sister, and I cut photos from magazines. We chose our favorites, separating them from the stack, and glued them onto poster board so we could share with each other how we feel and what abundance we seek. My sister had a poster full of sunshine, couples holding hands, and words that inspired self-actualization and relaxation. My collage included a poem by Hafiz, and numerous waterfalls, plus a kayaker who didn't appear to know that a huge fish lurked beneath him in the depths. My mother created not one, but two posters, balanced and organized with a theme of joy. Her collage included cruise ships, and her favorite pottery store at Dolphin Song, and RuPaul in full dress.

"I'm happier now than I ever have been," she said. "I haven't felt this happy since I got to stay home with you girls when you were little, before I started working."

This revelation becomes poignant for me, because I came back to our hometown a few months ago to regain a close friendship with my mother, and she learned she had cancer. She has been recovering steadily from surgery. Her doctors pronounced her recovery to be a miracle. Our family always has believed in miracles. In the month since that surgery, we have given ourselves another miracle: the gift of time together. We have made puzzles, colored with crayons, watched romantic comedies, and shared facials, manicures and eyebrow waxing. We have made meals and treats for each other. Mom made spaghetti and meatballs with her new zero calorie noodles. My sister made fat bombs, delicious globs of dark chocolate with cream cheese and some with peanut butter. I wrapped shrimp in bacon one day, and made mushroom and onion quiche another day. We brought home pies from Betty Lou's Pies and Cobblers pop up shop. We also have vowed to get together every year, for a seamless week, with no interruption to the free ebb and flow of feelings and fun.