Was back in the Bardo over the weekend - at the nail salon w my mom.

From the outside looking in, I felt like I was getting a manicure w an apparition of my mom. The salon employees only spoke with me, even though she was right there and is capable of answering for herself. She decided on no polish, just had her nails trimmed and buffed. Her poor figure is so frail and thin. Her clothing is nearly hanging from her frame. Her hair continues to thin and mat on her scalp, the silver pouring now down to her ears at least. Her expression is, essentially, unchanging. Lips straight, brow furrowed, eyes in a stare. She barely speaks, and when she does it is nearly inaudible and is to say something, almost certainly, is wrong.

It was heroic and brave for my mom to agree to have her nails done with me. But did she agree to it or was she coerced, convinced, swayed into going? Does it matter? I picked her up. She participated, fundamentally. As in, her body was in the seat, her hands and feet were worked on by the technicians. We went to lunch. Wordlessly, she ate her whole lunch. She apologized for being poor company. I also held silence, as there are so so many things I cannot say, will no longer fight over, or am simply too tired of hearing myself say.

I miss her so much and she is right in front of me. I miss her so much and I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again.