I’m here to see beyond her physical traits, past skin and muscles, in search of her spirit. She’s cautious to reveal herself, but on recognising that I’m her baby girl, her spirit steps forward.
The figure is ethereal. A tall translucent form that towers over the body. I struggle to make out features, because there is no definition. It’s her energy which allows me to picture her caring smile and sense the warmth of her supportive hand.
I see her.
She’s a dancer, carefree and full of youth, like a woman at Woodstock swaying to Janis Joplin whilst her nerves twitch to the rhythms.
She is a reader with exceptional taste. She loves a good murder mystery or period drama, but it’s conflict and resolution that keeps a book in her hands.
She’s an explorer and I see her feet shaking in anticipation to travel again. What I’ve always notice is how her eyes are different overseas. They radiate a childlike quality as they see Monet’s garden in person, or witness snow fall for the first time in Switzerland. There's silence with each flake that floats to the ground. It causes her to retreat in her mind and list all the other Earthly wonders she wishes to know.
She’s strong-willed, empathetic and a hard worker, whilst always finding the time to check in on loves ones. She is the embodiment of her mother, her mother’s mother and so on – a bloodline of strong females that I can only hope I live up to.
One good woman after another.