Whenever I miss Rose, I go to the Rose Museum.
Her entire life is archived into this small space(her room).
The wallpaper has not been changed.
The walls are covered with photographs and ribbons.
The shelves are stuffed full of photo albums, books and DVDs.
There are fairies everywhere.
The closet is packed with shoes, dresses, purses and toys.
Things go into the museum, but they never leave.
I am not allowed to straighten or clean.
I must dust delicately and sweep carefully.
Why the archives? She needs to remember.
Her memory cannot be trusted.
There were too many drugs and too many seizures.
The museum is her memory.
I do not need it to remember Rose, but Rose does.
Mama
Seizure Mama and Rose 