Death of the Matriarch
By vicissitude
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6 June 2006
6 June 2006 I am on the plane with my two children, for hours upon hours. The flight is so long; we have to change planes and then drive another 100 miles from the airport to my parents' house. I watch Brokeback Mountain three times during the flight; by the second and third showings, I only watch the sex and kissing scenes, and the scene where Ennis finds his shirt wrapped inside Jack's. In the dimness of the plane, with all the windowscreens shut, I cry. Three times. The kids, engrossed in Cartoon Network, scarcely notice.
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Death of the Matriarch
3 June 2006 I am having lunch in the sunny garden of a friend's sister's house when I get the phone call. It's my husband. "You need to call your mother as soon as possible. It's your gran." He can't tell me any more, hangs up. The sunlight in the garden, brilliantly hot a moment before, dims and cools. I ring Mum, my heartbeat heavy, weighted.
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