My 90-year-old neighbor supervised me while I dug up the lawn along our fence to plant a shared garden during lockdown. He shook his head and said, “My wife was strong. But you’re about the strongest woman I ever did see.”
At museums, I have recognized only one other female figure shaped as I am, a Roman statue of a wounded Amazon at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I have been strength-training since I was 13. That’s 50 years.
These days, who I am seems only to exist in a Zoom screen. Who I was has been pulled like so many weeds from my father‘s memory by dementia. I have been attempting to learn Mandarin Chinese. If I speak aloud and no one answers, am I still here? Am I still me?
When I saw Debbie Smith had captured the true and beautiful selves of my friends in their “40 Over 40” photos, I asked if she would see me, too.
“I am still here.” That’s what these photos say to me. In spite of living in isolation during a pandemic, in spite of my identity as my father’s daughter eroding hand-in-hand with his own identity, in spite of the diminishments of aging, I am still myself.
Like a colored plate in an illustrated specimen book of plants and flowers, I am just one among the 100 billion humans estimated to have ever lived.
On my page in that history – the first and worst tragedy in my life – my hips were never widened, my breasts and belly never softened by childbearing. These photos document what a face and a body with this bittersweet story look like.
What I feel for myself as I look at these photos – and for all 100 billion of us – is deep compassion and appreciation. How exquisite and tragic this being human is! How brave we all are!
Photos by Debbie Smith
All content on this site is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for medical or professional advice. Consult a qualified health care professional for personalized medical and professional advice.
