The picture of her and Baby Boy, snapped quickly with an old Instamatic and real film, has been in each and every old filofax calendar lugged about in handbags and satchels. A photo in a phone could never be this loved, bent from being taken out over and over again to show life and love, history and family.
When there is great beauty, there are fewer words, and hands scoop up paint or cameras, attempting to tell the poem offered by a sunset or a heartbeat, or sorrow and loss, and sometimes even the sharing of the inevitable journey into the unknown.
"There needs to be another word for what we are to each other than family because it is so much better than that," she said recently.
Poem. Poem works.