My Mother's Nose: A Short Story

My Mother’s Nose

I was, as was the norm for me in those days, rushing. Everything I did then was done in a frenetic, frazzled, frightened state. I knew it and it was a state that I was combating. In fact, I was engaged in perpetual active combat. I battled it with an arsenal of yoga, music, writing, St John’s Wort, beer and Oscar worthy acting. Wanting so desperately to be calm, from my center, to find peace ~ I was engaged in war. A war with fear. A new widow with young children, watching planes crash and twin towers erupt and crumble, I no longer trusted my world, and was terrified that something worse was coming. I was aware of the toxic effects of fear on one’s body, on one’s life. It is a horrible way to live. I fought hard

My head reeled with confusion; my heart reeled with a fresh blast of fear. I slowed down. Finally. I backed up. Forced myself to enter the room and approached the woman I didn’t recognize as my own mother. She smiled when she saw me. Her face and body all bloated up from the massive amounts of medication she was being given to attempt to reduce the size of the tumors. They had changed everything about her appearance, except her nose. I propelled myself forward, and kissed her puffy face. I pretended I was fine, pretense was also a normal state for me. My mother, most likely, knew better, though her thinking was no longer normal either. We weren’t sure if it was the tumors or the medication or both, but she had become confused and said odd things or had trouble recalling people’s names. I couldn’t help but chuckle when she asked me, “Where’s the guy who takes care of me?” referring to her boyfriend who I thought was a very forgettable guy. I got out a comb and fixed my mother’s hair the way she would have wanted it. I got her to drink some water and moisten her lips. I so wished we had some of the cosmetics that she had spent thousands of dollars on over her life that I had always thought foolish and frivolous of her. I wished for her powders and colognes and creams that used to annoyingly crowd our family bathroom. I wished for one of the thousands of outfits she had selected for herself over her life that took over most of closets in our house, but had always made her, by far, the most fashionable mom in