My Mom's eyes aren't doing it for her anymore. She can't see to read, she can't really use her computer, but––unkindest cut upon unkindest cut––they hurt her. They either water or sting or feel scratchy – just uncomfortable – most of the time.
Of course, she's tried everything there is to try for this, but nothing's seemed to help her. She keeps assuring me that she's not crying; it's only her stupid eye.
The other day, by some act of cosmic compassion, there was a moment of blue sky / bright sun in our grey town. Its radiance entered the room, and we were basking. Suddenly Mom asked for her sunglasses. The light was hurting her eyes even more.
I dug in her purse and had to laugh at the sunglasses she had in there. They were total old Hollywood glam; pointy black cats' eye with sparkling rhinestones. Someone had given them to me a long time ago, and since my sunglasses are prescription, I passed these on to Mom. It has been years since I've seen them on her––years without summers, it seems. And here she was in bed, just as bling and beautiful and special as any movie star you could name.
Don't groan here, because I have to say it.
It was a sight for sore eyes.
D.G. Fulford is the author of , written with her mother Phyllis Greene. She is also the co-founder of . You can find her at .
Photo credit: Marcia Smilack