clay on canvas
Mid-life crisis. Some how this term has become a concept worthy of ridicule, but I find the word crisis appropriate: a dangerous or worrying time; a situation or period in which things are very uncertain, difficult, or painful; especially a time when action must be taken to avoid complete disaster or breakdown.
My crisis began four years ago with the death of my Mother. As the oldest daughter I soon learned that I was now the “Matriarch” of the family. I was insulted and shocked. How could I be a Matriarch? Matriarchs are old and grandmotherly. In a moment it hit me that I had reached ‘that’ age: the age where your parents die; the age where the mirror reflects new horrors on a daily basis; the age where I am learning how to use the word biopsy as a noun, a verb, and an adjective.
Struggling to face my fears for the future, and the inevitable disappointments that come with physical aging, I have tried to reduce the importance of my body. I deny the body, eviscerate it, dissect it, and reduce it to its simplest parts in an attempt to ameliorate my own personal mid-life crisis.
© Jeanne Collins