Mom-icon

I've been seeing an image of Mom in a rolling bed, as she is taken into her brain biopsy at Hershey Medical Center. She is in a hospital shift. She is already hacked, diminished by other operations and procedures. She is bright brown-eyed, sitting up in the bed with hands on the sidebars, facing the double doors of the operating room. I am leaving her there, right at the doors, as the nurses wheel her in.

It's about her facing what is next and going. Bravely or not, she goes. In this action she is undiminished; she is illuminated. Another important part: she goes through the doors without guile. There is no positioning, no creation of fascade. She has no other reason to go than that it is required of her.

I see this Mom-icon -- this action that once happened that re-actions over and over -- as I catch the good and vulnerable facing into their next requirement: as they go round corners of hallways or up elevators or into cages to be transferred. I am thinking about requirements and risk; my own fascade-creating; how I might, or might not, be chicken.