Sasha submitted this poem which Mau created with those fridge magnets we all love to play with. 
mother death floods like sea water
from under
my shadow
our shadow
let time stare
sweet woman
you must incubate
go then
smell wind
play and read
ask and seeing a moment
soar
through blue winter
fall
like smooth moon petals
be girls together
whisper
sleep
void is garden and gift.
Mau, Winter 2000
Death is a blessing. The final process of achieving it can be torturous; the pain, the humility, the loss of control, dignity and modesty. The inability to determine whose hand wipes your ass, and whether or not they wash it before handing you a drink of water. Whispers surround your consciousness and scratch away at what sanity you cling to. The ever present pain; it seeps from the core of your bones into every nook and cranny.
The very act of taking a piss, or even a ragged breath, cause for caretakers to stop, listen stare, analyze and discuss you.
Tonight there are seven people in this house. In the living room, Mau at center-stage in a hospital bed, a small stool at each side, overhead trapeze, IV pole, narcotic pump, bedside table littered with cups, toothettes, gloves, and syringes to drink from. Strategically located are trash bins, sharps disposal unit, boxes of Kleenex, personal hygiene wipes, and a basket of clean washcloths and hankies.
We have had several requests for the ability to post/read the recipes for the potluck dishes which were brought to the two memorials. If you would like to add your recipe to the collection, please leave it below. If you have a request or comment you can leave this below as well. Once we have several recipes collected, we will post them to a permanent location on this website (and to them as we receive more recipes over time).
The following musical piece was performed and recorded in memory of Mau a few days after her passing. Thank you to Mosa for allowing us to post it here.
Download MP3
© 2008 Mosa Baczewska
