we were screaming in the car,
over the fact that you no longer had eyelashes,
and i no longer wanted to live.
how is it fair that a mother has to watch her daughter slowly die,
the end of quiet pain and too many bruised necks and I’m sorry but
i got in the car with a boy who was drunk,
but i wasn’t afraid.
now, tears blurring my vision in the backseat of this minivan,
im fucking petrified.
that the cancer is going to come back,
and I’m never going to be in love.
you still look gorgeous without eyelashes,
but in my haste i forget to tell you,
and we leave with doors slamming and words left unsaid.
hanging in the air like thick pockets of unspoken university debt.
I’m up to my ears in it,
this ability to love you,
but this knowledge that i am perpetually,
then, our big clumsy hearts knocks and we both answer,
“hello, I’m sorry. i love you. goodnight”.
I decided to create a series that centred around the relationship between my mom & I after she beat breast cancer. It was never something I used to talk about much, and i think that is because for a long time I pretended it never happened.
In second year, I fell victim to severe anxiety and mood swings. I blamed it on my heartbreak from the summer, but realistically it was from so many other things. One night my mom drove me home and we fought the entire time. It was the heated conversation in which you say things you regret, and I told my mom she wasn’t as beautiful as she used to be. We both cried then, a quite puddle of hurt and pain,
and I never got over it.
These photographs are a visual representation of that fight. Of the fact that you can’t wash away pain in an easy way. For months, my mother and I were not the same, and I can honestly say the worst feeling in the world is disappointing a person you love more than yourself.
This is for the people who don’t know words hurt. This is for the people who have been hurt. And this is for my mom,
You are the bravest person in the world and I am sorry breast cancer compromised that.