Rituals may seem quaint, even useless. But the older you get the more you realize they provide a sense of place and security. They're notches on a door frame. Every year we bake in the days leading up to Christmas. On the morning of the 25th we open the presents. Then we either go to my sister's house or she comes to us, with her two girls and my mom. We alternate.
This year we were the ones hitting the road.
Our mother isn't well. Her mind is playing dirty tricks, erasing hours and days and people... Entire moments destroyed before having lived at all. I struggle with the idea of capturing her this way because... Well, because it's no longer who she was. And I'd like to remember who she was as long as I can.
In these pictures she appears only as a passing shadow, in a single frame.
It's not by accident.
No, it's not by bloody accident.