My Mother's Room
A room in my house faces a new dawn each day. It is located upstairs, with a large window of hope, walls of charity, and past and present furniture. This once was a room of dialogue and debate but is now a space of silence and thought. An arrangement created out of sudden loss and later choreographed by time, this was my mother’s room, which is now a Study. After her husband’s death, my mother settled in with us and began to acclimate herself to new surroundings. As you walked into her bedroom, you immediately smelled a fusty odor that indicated age was present. Classical music emanated from a radio she kept on top of an old chest of drawers. Noticeably, a long wooden back-scratcher was on the wall by the light switch. It was cracked and worn down and seemed out of place among contemporary baseboards and hand-crafted closet trim. On the opposite wall was a Crucifix that reminded us of who we are. Nearby was a family portrait that reminded us of what we were. A day bed cons