A Letter on Love, of Loss (& respectfully, fuck cancer) —
Every few months, I submit an order of photo prints to Artifact Uprising (not an #ad). There’s something I love so much about being able to touch a memory. When I sent in my most recent order a few weeks ago, I printed 2 of this one right here. One for me, one for you.
I didn’t anticipate that I’d be sending it under these circumstances, but I sure do hope it is received with a smile. I hope it unlocks a vault of memories from that Colorado weekend— the moment of pure joy, discovering we’d finally be next-door neighbors (if only just for the night). Or some of the less noble ones— as we reached to justify the way we so blatantly ruined that wedding, over a bar of weed chocolate (we’ve come so far). Our moms there for it all.
I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to share those memories, among many others, with you. With your family. With your mom. When I pull this photograph out years from now, it will forever be symbolic of the weekend my moms, both birth and adopted, collided. And maybe for you it will carry a completely different sentiment— this is the beauty and power that photos hold and why I love them / sharing them so much.
But photographs do not follow us around everyday. Crutching on the notions of tangible memories and symbolism, I wanted to send you something more “fixed” or constant. A wearable tribute to the most incredible woman we’ve ever loved.
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“M” most obviously for Maggie. But also “M” for Mom, Mother— what she was best. To every friend of yours that walked through her front door, most notably to you three. “M” for magnetic, mindful, or any of the endless words that only begin to define her. Whatever you need it to mean on any given day, this is the blessing and freedom in symbolism. But simultaneously and just as importantly, “M” for Molly— because you already are, and will continue to be, so much of who she was. And beside that “M” sits her birthstone. As an April baby, she certainly lived up to her Aries ways. “Good-hearted and daring.. displaying care and compassion often missing in human endeavors”. Pretty spot on, I’d say.
I will never forget the fresh sandwiches waiting for us on the counter after spending hours on the trampoline (or later, MSN messenger). The way she so naturally built the type of home that every friend wants to come back to, but still respected enough that we’d never be caught dead making a peep in the middle of the night. The song Summer of ‘69, I assure you she is the only reason I know every word. As we got older, the deep chats around the kitchen island— the safe space, listening ear, and quick-witted advice she provided. And eventually getting to the age where we were all doing so with wine in hand.
It is impossible to encompass feelings of love and loss so big, with words, photos, wearable mementos. But shoot, for mom, I’ll try. Everglow.
turnnoffyourmind
dededos
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