In Laymon's Terms

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N SATURDAY, June 25, 2000, I attended a memorial service for the mother of one of my closest friends from high school. I only had about three close friends in high school, so the funeral for Andrew’s mother was a pretty big deal. And, knowing my study and work in television courses in high school and college, he asked me to videotape the service for him. I gladly agreed, ready to help in any way possible.

Andrew’s mother was just fifty-two when she lost her battle with lung cancer. She didn’t smoke, just drew a shit deck. She was diagnosed in 1998 and during her two years of illness, therapy, hospitalizations, and counseling, she was a feather.

Yep. A feather.

The feather was chosen by Andrew’s mom, her family, and the folks at the cancer support meetings for visualization and relaxation exercises.

She pictured herself as a feather, drifting about. Ya know, all free and stuff. Just like that damn feather in the opening credits of Forrest Gump.

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