Forgotten Images On Your Hard Drive...

I couldn't decide what to title this post... there were these options...

THE BEDSIDE TABLE

or

ETHIOPIAN GUM

or 

DIVERSIONS...

but never the less, here is what I wanted to say:

I didn't start this early morning intending to do a blog post,

but as we all know, sometimes one thing leads to another and

your path (actual, virtual - on the web, or emotional) can be instantly diverted.

So it was for me just now...

It is the 7 o'clock hour here on this fine Friday morning and before I leave to go into the shop office

for a FULL day of work, I thought I'd sit down and organize some photos for some ad artwork I will

be working on this weekend.

I started, though, by deciding to install some "actions" (whatever that means) into my Photoshop program.  

And though I am not named among the "photography is my new calling" sisterhood  and though I am not one of you who lusts after the latest model "X%&CB" camera (those letters and symbols translate into how ANY camera-talk looks to me:  foreign) for my birthday,

I do have to maintain my website and prepare my magazine ads for my business, 

so I begrudgingly

wade occasionally in those vast, unknown waters called photography.

As such, I opened my downloads folder on my computer to pull out the Photoshop additions I was to install in my program and 

BOOM.

Without warning, I found myself looking at the LAST thing I counted on (or honestly wanted to)

see this pretty summer morning.

There before me were images of my mother lying in her hospital bed two days before she

died three months ago.

Confession:  the pictures were not a pretty sight.  

SHE was beautiful, as you can see here:

but in those last days, her

condition was anything but beautiful.

{Out of respect, I cropped her out of the picture.  And for those who are
wondering... it was a very unusual thing indeed for me to even think to take
any pictures there in that hospital room.  But something that day was telling
me that this was not a trip to the hospital that she was going to return home from.
Something told me to "record" the moment --- because there would come a day
when the chaos and whirlwind of all those events would have settled and for me at least,
I would need to/want to go back and be able to truly take in all that had happened.
Will I keep these images forever?  I don't know.  In fact there is only one other person
who has seen them, and that is one of my sisters who was there with me that day.
And even the one I have here on this post is obviously edited.  They are mine to have
for as long as I "need" them.  And I am glad that on that one occasion, I thought to
do the unusual -- document the unfolding of events that I would obviously need much time
to wrap my head around after the dust settled.}

I was startled and I even looked away -- my eyes diverted (much like my intended path this morning)

many times, before finally...

I looked.

And the look became a stare and then a deep, long gaze.

I found myself crying (and still now).  I found myself studying every square inch of the pictures.

There was meaning in every object in the picture.  

Every object on the bedside table,

every wrinkle in bedsheets and the bunched up pads/pillows on the bed -- I remember them

and I sitting right there on those very pads and blankets as I stared at her then -- just like I now

stared at the pictures I captured with my cell phone that day.

On the bedside table there is the funny-looking, standard-issue "hospital phone", 

a folded pad of some sort for her bed, and a few things that really tug at my heart like

a pack of gum that my daughter brought back to her (just in the nick of time, too) from her trip 

to Ethiopia in March -- just weeks before my mom died.  

The FUNNY thing about that pack

of gum is this: what would turn out to be my mom's last words to my daughter before leaving for

Ethiopia was "See if you can find a pack of gum from there.  I'd like a pack of gum from Ethiopia."

That's it.

No big time gift.  

Just "I'd love a pack of gum from there."

The quest for that pack of gum became the end-all quest (partly because I somehow knew

it would be one of the last things we'd give my mom).

I couldn't wait to bring that pack of gum to the hospital (unfortunately, my daughter never did 

get to present it to my mom personally...) and even in the worst shape my mom was in,

she struggled to open that pack of gum there in her bed and she began to carefully, and slowly

put a piece of it in her mouth.  

You'd think she was about to savor a piece of the world's most prized chocolate from a 

distant land...

And the moment came... she began slowly chewing... 

and then THAT FACE!!!!!  

Her face could not belie the fact that after all that anticipation... 

THAT WAS THE WORLD'S WORST GUM EVER MADE!!!!!  ;)

Oh my poor mom.  She did the best she could to try and hide how bad it must have been,

but her face told the story.  The gum began to just fall apart in her mouth and quickly

became a nasty, gritty mess not resembling gum at all.

And little did I know when I innocently gave her that gum, 

she was being restricted from water/fluids.

OH NO.

Now she had this mouth full of gritty, disgusting "gum" from Ethiopia and nothing to 

help her wash it out.  

Well, we dealt with it, and I managed to con her nurse into something that they did

allow her to have called "HONEY THICK WATER"....

Ladies... You DO NOT EVER want "honey thick water".

UGH.  The look on my mom's face as she tried to "drink" that stuff was worse than

the look when she tried to "chew" that gritty gum.   Oh my poor mom.   :)

Anyway.... on that bedside table were those two otherwise benign objects --

the small package of gum and the short glass with the paper lid on it (containing the

icky, sticky substance they loosely called "water").

Also in the background are the usual machines, etc. and the faintest hint of the

divider curtain that separated her from her "room mate" in that room.

That brought about another funny memory of that day :  

My mom was in so much discomfort and so out of sorts, 

and here was this woman in the next bed making SO MUCH

noise and commotion with her nurse, at one point my otherwise quiet and reserved 

mother muttered under her breath...

"I have HALF a nerve left... and THAT WOMAN 

is steppin' all over it!"

Oh my word.  No matter how much pain she was in, there it was -- that glimmer of the "real Vivien" again.  That was my mama. Love it.

So I sit here now at the computer, diverted for a bit from my original task.

And you who I thought to tell this tale to?

You.

If you've stuck with my story and ramblings this far, thanks.  

Thanks for listening.  (And so the tears begin again...)

I look at her broken body in that picture and her mussed hair and only I know

the real pain and agony that is behind the image.  I was there that day and saw how 

pretty much any movement at all was a struggle and was painful.

There is so much more to these images than anyone else but those who were there

can ever get out of them.

I look at that face and think -- "Mom, I am in so deep right now.  I'm so busy, I'm so pushed at all sides, I have so many BIG questions in my life about what to do next, what to not do next... I wish I could ask you what YOU would do.  And I can't.  And I sooo wish I could."

So, I will ask, 

and then I will imagine what she would have said to me.  

That'll work, right?

I feel kind of like Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail" when she longs to
be able to ask her mom what to do about her "Little Shop Around The Corner" bookstore
when it looks like the 'big-box' book store opening nearby will overshadow her store.

Ladies, if you're reading this and you still have your mama, give her a hug, then give 

her one for me.  They are priceless and like so many priceless things on this earth, we only

appreciate their value when they are gone.  

Let's purpose to at least try and change that

and begin valuing them while we still have them.  

It's much more fun that way.  :)

Well, my duties call -- Photoshop installations and all... (ICK).

Then, its off to get your magazines and orders shipped out to you.

Perhaps as I pack up the many, many orders going out today, I'll have that

chat with my mom (hope that doesn't sound weird) and we'll get this stuff all

figured out together.  Maybe solve world peace while we're at it.  :)

Now... do any of you have a clue about installing "actions" into your Photoshop program?

Ugh... I wish I had your zeal for this photography stuff.  

Me?  I just want a Sephora gift card for my birthday.  

NO CAMERA BAGS.  NO FANCY GIANT CAMERA LENS.

(You could just as well give me a carburetor - either one would be as fascinating for me). 

:)

Hey friends, seriously -- you were the first I thought of when all this "diversion" happened to me

about 1/2 an hour ago.  You mean a lot to me and I just wanted to share my heart.

Now I'm off to races for the day.

Wish me luck on my "actions" install.  If I get right, maybe you'll see some

"upgrades" in my pictures on my website.  If you don't -- you'll know I gave up 

somewhere between yelling at the computer and tossing my camera out the window.  ;)

And, here's to "diversions" in everyday life.

They are unexpected and at first bothersome,

yet sometimes

seem so divinely planned. 

 We can learn from them -- well,
there is potential to learn from them...

if 

our 
heart is
teachable
and

listening...

You are appreciated and oh so loved...