I am thrilled to have my latest essay on Full Grown People today. It is such an amazing site with great essays about life, death, love, loss: the messy business of being an adult. This one was a long time coming, and I’m so happy it found a home there.
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When my mother found out she had cancer, she said she wanted to do two things when she got better: learn to play the piano and get a bird.
“A bird? Why?” I asked, remembering the nasty parakeets I’d had as a child who kicked feathers and birdseed shells into my underwear drawer.
“Well, I have a friend who has this really beautiful bird, and I’d like to have a bird like that.”
I rolled my eyes, a childish act, that, at twenty-seven, I was probably too old to still be doing. It was so typical of my mother to want something simply because it was beautiful: bird as objet d’art. Her desire—requirement, really—for things to be aesthetically pleasing was not a trait we shared.
In the emotionally chaotic days after her cancer diagnosis, it still seemed reasonable to make plans for the future. My mother would stagger her chemotherapy treatments with her schedule at work. We located the city’s best wig store. She ordered shelving for her new apartment. And she was going to break up with her boyfriend, Steven, because, although he was nice, she said, “Nice is not enough.” She would stop postponing joy and make the time for things she always seemed to be putting off. So if a bird was part of the life she imagined for herself in her post-cancer future, who was I to argue?
A wonderful piece, as always – more tears than usual this time though. Thanks for sharing something so personal. I’m going to forward to everyone!!
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thank you aimee! xxxx
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Beautiful story, stunning prose.
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Beautiful writing. Completely stopped me in my tracks. Thank you.
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