I have an appreciation for beautiful things: freshly cut flowers – preferably tulips- in an mason jar with crystal clear water, driving into the sunset on an open road that leads to home, a cup of cafe con leche and a good book, an elderly couple holding hands across a table as they gaze into each others eyes, as if for the first time. Then, there are the beautiful memories of my mom’s loudness: her deep, strong, raspy voice, her contagious laughter that filled the air, her whistle – which she did with two fingers slightly spread apart and pressed against her mouth – the sound of her feet pounding against the hallway floor, as I tried to sleep in just a little longer. For me, my mom depicted beauty inwards and outwards. But the most beautiful things I love to observe are the interactions between a mother and child. A newborn baby slowly turning his head towards the sound of his mother’s voice. A mother wiping the tears of her child’s eyes as she …

About a year ago, I wrote a monologue script detailing my mom’s sickness that has left her in a vegetative state.  Throughout the story, I alternated from the past to the present (bold print). My God, He is my JOY! I still remember the day like it was yesterday, but it’s been nine years. It was an ordinary day. I was shopping in the toy section of Target for my two little girls, Bianca and Naomi. Let’s see. I promised to buy them a little something. (Phone rings.) Hello!    Hello!    Hello! Mom?! Are you okay? Mom, please stop crying. I can’t understand you. What did the doctor have to say? Dementia? But, you’re only 46 years old. How could this be?! You may have had a stroke?! Nerve damage to your brain?! Okay. But, what does all of this mean? You are going to lose your memory. Rapidly!!! How long do you have before you will no longer recognize us? Two to three years?!  Oh my…. I’ll be there soon. Love you. Bye! …