A Far Away Look

She was staring out the window

Not looking at anything in particular

The light was shining through her white hair

Giving her an angelic appearance

I wondered what she was thinking about

If her thoughts were like scrambled eggs

I wondered if she was still angry at me

I wondered if she remembered that she still loved me

Viewing her through the safety glass of a locked door

I was thankful for the separation

The barrier between her and me

The deep sadness struck me in the gut like a sharp punch

I could taste the poignancy of the moment

That picture that is burned in my memory

Like a tattoo that does not fade over time

That far away look and drifting away is what happens when someone’s brain is failing them

That brain is my Mom’s, but it doesn’t belong to her anymore

Felicia is driven by curiosity. She takes things apart and puts them back together: dryers, door handles and ideas. She values directness as well as kindness. In life or salsa class she will be moving in the opposite direction of the crowd (sometimes not on purpose). Her family is nice enough to leave all the drawers open for her to push in so she feels useful. She lives outside of Boston on the North Shore with a large man with a heart of gold, a tween who sings like an angel but can’t remember to wear her own coat home from school and a greyhound named Arnie who enjoys crispy bread. You can follow Felicia on her website, LinkedIn and Facebook.

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