My Impermanent Mama
Without her dentures, Mom looks like an Appalachian dried-apple doll. I resist recognizing her in the photograph my sister sends. My beautiful mother! I am startled! Sunken cheeks and changed chin steal her dignity. Do they, though? My own fear of impermanence may be the agent of that theft. I take it out on my sister, railing at her as the thief who captures and shares the unbecoming image. The Mom I knew would want only flattering photos shared! But what about the Mom I don’t know. No one knows what Mom, having become nonverbal, would want now. And my own photographic desires influence my convictions. My sister tells me Mom now refuses dentures. Her right. So. Photo dignity no longer feels like the underlying shock I experience. At the end I understand, it’s my issue, my challenge: making peace with impermanence. My beautiful Mom is becoming— old. Happy 99th Birthday today 
to My Beautiful Impermanent Mother.
The lessons never stop, do they?
The challenges keep on coming. I didn’t have this one, as my parents died at 52 and 77. My is lesson in impermanence is my 40-year-old daughter. I’ve decided I must return to Asheville. This time I will stay until she is well or leaves this plane for good.