She is a beautiful woman, her white hair, her face marked with wrinkles that remind us of a life filled with experiences: of laughter, of tears, of loves, of fears, of successes, of failures, of dawns, of sunsets, of days and nights lived – some with joy and others with sadness – like the rest of us mortals. Her body is now as fragile as that of a new born bird in its nest, her mind touched by a ruthless sickness and her soul, her soul unharmed.
She is a woman who has lost her access to memories and has now little access to words. It is for this reason that many people when looking at her cannot see her. “She is not there,” they might say, maybe because their own painful fear or their deep sorrow or their protective relaxed attitude have made their eyes blind to her gaze; a gaze that still reflects the undimmed spark of life in her soul.
There is her daughter arriving at the nursing home and she enters the door almost as a sea breeze in this city of arid lands; her daughter who has fought in every way to keep her eyesight intact and whose eyes light up as she sees her from afar sitting in an armchair. She walks up to her, says hello, kisses her, caresses her, she sees her!
The glance of the woman with white hair is lost inside, somewhere inside her soul, in a place that not even her daughter can understand and even if it is so, her daughter never changes her way of looking at her filled with profound, immense, eternal love. And it is then that the everyday miracle happens: the baby bird woman glances back at her, maybe simply feeling seen, returns to the here and now, looks up and with her eyes, smiles.
It has always been said that love makes miracles happen and it is indeed a miracle, as natural as the birth of a child, to see how without words these two women speak, connect and share another afternoon.