Why MORTAL exists
When my father was dying, I discovered I knew nothing about death.
The people who helped me most weren't the people with the highest status in the room. They were the night sitters, women who spent night after night sitting beside people who were dying. They knew how to be there. They could explain what was happening without making it frightening. They could speak when words were useful, and stay quiet when they weren't.
At the same time, I was surrounded by extraordinary pain and a culture that seemed incapable of looking directly at it. The cards arrived: lavender, flowers, polite words, deepest sympathies. Everything had been softened at exactly the moment nothing felt soft.
Why MORTAL exists
Then a friend sent a message that occupied the same reality I did:
"This is going to be shit."
It didn't explain, offer meaning, or make the situation smaller so either of us could feel more comfortable. It acknowledged the truth.
MORTAL is my attempt to give everyone what the night sitters and that friend gave me.