On Friday, June 22th, at 2:07 and 38 seconds PM Central Time, my mother passed away. I was there, holding her hand, glancing at my watch to measure her final breaths, knowing any one could be her last.

My mother is an amazing woman. Not was. Is. She has touched so many lives. Most of the pictures here are from the small wake and birthday party (she would have been 60 on the 28th) we held for her afterwards on Sunday. Friends and family attended and several spoke, myself included, about our memories of her. She is dead, but she is not gone. The pictures and words in this gallery stand testament to that: [link]

In a few hours I will be in my parents' home again to say good-bye to my mother.   When I return, she will be dead.  But she won't be gone.

This is her: [link]

Many months ago I posted my thoughts about my mother's ongoing struggle with mouth cancer here: [link]

Last Tuesday I learend that this is a struggle she is going to lose.  The doctors have told her she won't live beyond this summer or fall.  My mother will or would be sixty in late June.  She was born in 1952, the Year of the Dragon, the same as myself (76).  And now I am trying to figure out how to say good-bye, even as I keep hoping for some miracle, for some mistake discovered or new treatment or second chance.  And I have no idea how to say good-bye.  I suppose we all have to learn.

5-5 UPDATE:  So my sister called.  I've found out that my mother is in a great deal of pain, that the cancer was spreading rapidly even with the chemo... that she's already being fed through tubes and the cancer is in her brain.  That there really is nothing that can be done except see her while I can.

5-10 UPDATE: So, things might not be as bad as I believed.  No, my mother is still dying I am afraid, but my sister might have been wrong about how badly off she is at this stage due to her own fears.  I'll just have to keep a watch and hope.

5-17 UPDATE: So... my sister was right after all, at least on some things.  My mother is not doing well.  The cancer has reached her brain, though to what extent we're uncertain.  I have no idea how long she has left, but I am going to try to see her every moment I can.  It's difficult, because doing much of anything takes a lot out of her.

Saturday I had the good fortune to stumble upon the life of Patrick Spillane.

To give you a little background, I donate plasma twice a week.  It helps a lot of people, and you're paid for it, and we surely need the money these days.  I'd just donated, and toward the end the machine went a bit wrong so they couldn't give me my blood back.  Could that be why I was a bit more whimsical than usual?  Probably not. I've always been given to follow my curiosity.

And purely on a whim I decided to hop off of the bus earlier than I normally would and do a little more walking.  It was a beautiful, bright, warm day out, so why not?

There I was, crossing the bridge over the mighty Kish, when to my ears came something that stopped me in my tracks; the familiar keen of the pipes.  I turned around and spotted a little ways down the river the source.  Naturally, I went investigating, even if that meant doubling back and finding my way back behind a collection of old apartments.

By the time I had arrived, the piper had gone inside.  There was a ncie little fire circle down on the river bank with some chairs, and a grizzled looking veteran of the Vietnam war invited me to sit and talk a while.  So I did.  We talked about his time in Vietnam, and my father's (who was a navy corpsman assigned to accompany the marines, who had no medical officers of their own).  We talked a bit of politics.  And by and by a car pulled in, just as I'd been about to go, and two gentlemen exited with this banner: [link]

The man you see there had made it, he told me, for an upcoming parade in honor of Patrick Spillane, former owner of a place called the Rock Barn where he had hosted all manner of bands and musicians over the years.  That was my introduction to Patrick.  Later I'd realize that what they were holding was a good old-fashioned wake, and I am certain others thought of this as well, given they were having it on St. Patrick's Day.

Being naturally curious as I am, I wound up hanging around and talking more, both with the musicians in front gathering together to practice for their role in the coming procession and the piper in back when he returned. He was to be in the event also.  Had a chance to talk with that veteran I'd met and several others also.

And I decided that I wanted to help out.  I've always had a habit of doing this.  As a boy, I joined the cub scouts because I wandered in on them cleaning up the old lot in front of the WWII army bunkers set into the crater wall they were going to use as their new den.  Naturally, I pitched in.  I've been doing things like that ever since, wandering into the lives of strangers, who sometimes remained strangers afterwards and sometimes did not.  I am glad Patrick did not.

Over the course of the ceremony, the parade, the celebration afterwards, I got to know Patrick by listening to others.  I watched the slides they had set up going in a constant loop.  I heard the testimonies, some from his own family.  And most of all I watched the people who gathered in his honor, who he had touched in his life.  I came to the conclusion that Patrick Spillane was and is a good man, one who inspired others.  In that, he will live on.

To see more of the event honoring his life, at least what I was able to capture of it, take a wander through my gallery here: [link]

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On a side note, some of you might notice my penchant at times for numbering photos.  There are a number of reasons I do that.  The simplest reason would be that numbers speak to us; we see them and they automatically indicate something is part of a set or progression.  You can use them to link together the parts of a story, and thus draw the viewer in to the full tale and not just a snapshot from it.

The other reason is that if you give every submission its own unique title, it can make it more difficult for others to find them again.  A single title with numbers for multiple instances or to link steps in the story helps us to remember and find our place again.  Mind you, as you will note in the gallery for Patrick's memorium, it is still good to break things down into chapters built around a common theme.

I've had my first sale at my Etsy site!  My second sale overall, since my wife sold a couple of my bracelets to her boss.  Actually, I've now had two sales at my Etsy site, and am embarking on a line of pins, patches, and brooches based on the surprisingly popular Cthulhu War Medal I made.  The first one has already been bought by a fellow DJ of mine, another is up, and several more are in the works.  I will continue to post other pieces, naturally, such as the Magnesite and Turqouise Necklace.

So I've been pretty prolific of late with my submissions, I know.  Admittedly, I've had a massive backlog of creations that I am finally getting a chance to show off, but even at that I've been making new things constnatly now to display as well.

Point is, all of this is getting me inspired, and I am enjoying it.

Thanks to the aquisition of a new digital camera, you may expect a boatload of new pictures of work I've been doing for the past several years, from jewelry to clothing modifications and props to recipes.