I live in Los Angeles. My mom is a 10 minute drive away. Lately I want nothing more than just to be near her. I go to her house to watch her garden, or to take a bath, or to lay in her bed and smell her smell. Sometimes I just sit in a chair and twiddle my thumbs, or look out the window, or stare in a mirror, or go on a walk. I stay there all day and then I go home. It doesn’t matter what I do as long as I know she’s near.
My landlord is 103 years old. He sits outside in the garden, sleeping in the sun. Sometimes I catch him when he’s awake. One day I caught him, and sat down next to him. He looked at me with bright blue eyes that have seen decades of joy and tragedy and creation and loss, grabbed my hand, and with his wild blue eyes twinkling, said, “you have a mother, dance around!”
