Go Black - Watching My Mom

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I spent two years searching for my mom inside the body that housed her. I looked for her in the way she still hummed while eating soup. I looked for her in the preference she retained for the color blue. I looked for her in the reflex that made her brush hair from my face when I leaned close.

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The journey through this emotional darkness has taught me lessons I never wanted to learn, yet I am forced to walk this path with grace. Watching My Mom Go Black

I cannot entirely blame them. My mother was not an easy person to help. She rejected every suggestion of therapy with a dismissive wave of her hand. She refused to see a doctor. When I tried to talk to her about what was happening, she would change the subject or accuse me of treating her like a child. On her good days — and there were good days, scattered like coins on a dark street — she would apologize for worrying me and promise to do better. But the promises evaporated as quickly as morning fog.

To avoid harmful stereotypes, "go black" needs a clear, psychological meaning:

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As I sit here, reflecting on my journey, I am reminded of the day my mom's world started to change. It was as if the vibrant colors that once danced in her eyes began to fade, replaced by a melancholy that seemed to seep into every pore of her being. Watching my mom go black, or rather, watching her struggle with vitiligo, has been a transformative experience that has taught me the value of love, resilience, and self-acceptance.

As I look to the future, I know that my mom's journey with vitiligo will continue. There will be ups and downs, times of triumph and times of struggle. But I also know that she's strong and resilient, that she'll face whatever comes her way with courage and determination.

Every evening, I wrote down one thing I had learned about who she was becoming. She liked the sound of rain on the windowsill even though she could no longer name what she was hearing. She smiled when I held her hand, though she didn't know it was mine. She sometimes spoke French—a language she had studied in college but hadn't used in sixty years—fluently and without error, even as English crumbled around her. I spent two years searching for my mom

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Details * August 26, 2016 (United States) * Valencia, California, USA(on location) * Dogfart Network. Watching My Mom Go Black. Watching My Mom Go Black — Texas Patti | Last.fm