Content Note: suicide, exploded bullets
At coffee this morning, I was telling my writer friend Shek about my mother inheriting family money from a forced-labor tobacco farm (what used to be called a plantation).
[It's been on my mind--blogged about it a couple days ago]
"Getting that money led in part to her suicide," I said.
"How did she kill herself, if I may ask...?" he asked.
"She shot herself with a hollow-tip bullet," I said. "They spread open on impact and peel back like petals. The spent bullets look like flowers."
". . . I wonder if tobacco has flowers," he said.
I looked it up on the spot.
It does. Some kinds of Nicotiana are even ornamentals, like the white blossoms below.
They look like bullet flowers.
I was thinking of writing or making art about this. It could be a tarot card, like I was thinking about this morning---designing a symbol based on your real life.
This could illustrate karma.
But when I think about my mother's death for long, I start to feel heavy and slow, like I'm drugged. I probably won’t go any further than this.
But when I think about my mother's death for long, I start to feel heavy and slow, like I'm drugged. I probably won’t go any further than this.
Ten years ago I started an art project about my mother (her death, and life) —I painted a few good watercolors before I got swamped.
_______________________
I told Shek how I gave away the money I inherited from my mother.
"You're so good," he said.
"It wasn't good!" I said. "Money like that is a curse."
_______________________
I told Shek how I gave away the money I inherited from my mother.
"You're so good," he said.
"It wasn't good!" I said. "Money like that is a curse."
_________________________ 988 = Suicide and Crisis Lifeline in the United States.
Wikipedia has a list of Worldwide Suicide Crisis Lines:
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