Twenty-seven years ago, as my mother lay dying in her bed, she looked up at me, drew a deep breath and exhaled these words: “I never got my turn.” What did she mean? Now, as I’ve lived more of my life, I wonder if “taking her turn” was something more essential, something deeper than any circumstantial redirections.
Gimme What You Got
As I proceeded, I passed a young man – not unlike the man in this photo. He walked with even grace, but both his right arm and right leg stopped at the joint and were extended mechanically.