Oma

From the moment she was diagnosed with tumour, and, later on, multiple myeloma, I had known that the clock was ticking.
I have always wanted to take a picture of her, my mom.
One good picture, how hard could it be?

Harder than I thought, for sure.
Back in the old house, there wasn't just enough good lighting.
Then there was the clutter, even in the new house (although it sure had some nice light there).
Then there was the unwilling subject.
She was simply not comfortable in front of the camera, and still a student of photography that I am, I would not want to invade her privacy if she does not want to have her picture taken.

Luckily that day I was just trying out, and I got that pic up there.

Not that I really thought it was a gem at first. I did not even look at the pic beyond the quick check on the camera's screen.
Because a mere 2 days after the picture was taken, her condition took a turn for the worse.
And worse and worse and worse.
Until one morning, she was simply gone in her sleep.

I looked in vain for that one good picture for her funeral.
The best was from my wedding ceremony, a good 6 years back, when the two of us was photographed while waiting for the taxi that will take us to the venue.
Hardly the most recent picture of Mom, I'd say.

So it was a good many days after that I finally found the picture above,
With all its beautiful (tinted) light, the clutter, the somewhat awkward smile,
But hey, it was Mom, all right.

Mom at her 'command center' at the new house, where she would sit and enjoy the light,
Away from the flow of the wind blowing into the house,
Close to all the things she needed, her meds, hot water, food, entertainment,
Her stuff populating the glass shelves installed against the window frame behind her,
It was, indeed, the very essence of Mom during those final days.

It would seem, then, that I had indeed gotten that one good picture of her, after all,
Something to remember her by,
Not a picture of someone who was sick, who was helpless,
But Mom who was full of spirit, despite all her sickness, her weakness
Smiling, looking happy....

I'd like to think she would be happy too, to be remembered thus.

Be well, Mom.

I've gotten into the habit of calling Mom 'Oma' since that is what my little girl calls her. It kind of help cleared the confusion since Kecil calls me 'Mama', the very title that I used to call my Mom.