Llama Trauma's blog: "Actual Blogging."

The polish smoothed wood contained a golden tinted plate that spelled out the word family. Beneath the shiny plate was a glass square that contained a picture of the two brightest things in my life. My mother had silky blond hair that beamed as bright as the sun as it was caught by the flash of an old camera. A wrinkled grey t-shirt clung to her body but more important then that, at this point in here life she was actually wearing a smile.
In the passenger seat a noticeably older lady sat hunched over with short brown hair and a low dipping v-neck pink shirt. Her presence alone was rhythmic and soothing to my mother’s soul. The woman in the passenger seat was my grandma before she had passed away. In fact, she was my hero. She had a whooping big smile and her eyes were wide as the galaxy as she stuck her tongue out of her mouth posing for the picture that would later sit in the dusty frame with few fingerprints on my bookshelf.
This frame would mean more then a captured memory to me. This frame would contain a melodious time before my whole world would transverse into a nightmare with an alcoholic mother who couldn’t get past more then a couple of years before taking up drugs. This picture frame became a frame time in my life. All of the time and memories and happiness were in this frame before her cancerous death and now rather then her it seems like my mother is a walking cancer. A cancer that couldn’t be diagnosed because it settled deep within her loathing heart. And as we all know things that are silent can still be deadly.
From time to time I pick up this frame of time and indelible memories. It seems I always pick it up the same way and use precaution. There is one visible thumb print where all of the dust is gone and this always brings the realization to me that no matter what happens there is always room for a clean start somewhere.