The Makeup Artist

By Julie Kirtz Garrett

My mom has been dead for four months. And I can't stop thinking about her final gift to me. It was tucked away in her makeup bag.

I flew back to California a few weeks before she died. She was in the intensive care cardiac unit. We all knew she wasn't getting better this time. The respirator prevented her from speaking. So, I sat next to her bed and filled up the visiting hours with chatter about my life back in Washington, D.C.

"Mary Ellen is the point guard on her basketball team. Luke misses sharing a room with his big sister. Audrey stays up at night reading with a flashlight under her covers --- blah, blah, blah."

I knew she wanted to hear all the happy, little details. I held her hand and tried not to cry. And then I did something she taught me. I pushed away this ugly, nasty, dying business by focusing on something small and very, very important: an eyebrow pencil.

"Mom, can I do your eyebrows?"

Her blue eyes twinkled. She pointed to the metal hospital tray on wheels. I found her small, flowered bag (as always) neatly packed with her Estee Lauder basics: lipstick, pressed powder compact and brown eyebrow pencil.

When the nurse gave her a sponge bath that morning she washed off my mom's gracefully arched eyebrows. Two short, straight, depressing stubs remained above each eye. Mom lifted up her face slightly as I sketched back her full eyebrow lines --- her dignity restored. I could have traced those two familiar curves in the dark.

"Yes, much better," she said with a squeeze of my hand.

My mom was always low maintenance, even as she was dying at age 80. But she never left the house without her eyebrows filled in. I didn't have the power to cure her chronic and fatal lung condition. But I'm so grateful she let me draw a little grace back into that day.

Julie Kirtz Garrett is a writer and television reporter. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her husband and three children.

Comments

[Sallyann]

Julie thank you for sharing the touching last moments with your mother. You are so sweet and a lovely daughter any mother would be proud to call daughter. Your moment with the eyebrows is a touching incident that symbolizes something much more. It is a picture of two hearts bound with love,trust,respect,tenderness that lives in a sweet place in our memories after we lose a loved one.

[Sandy]

Julie, here is is almost four years later, and I just read this post. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm sure you still miss your mom so much.

I wanted to tell you that I gleaned two things from it. First of all it was so sweet of you to see your mom as low maintenance. I hope that someday I can be a low maintenance, high loving mom as well. And secondly, you were a very loving and caring daughter. It sounds as though you were both blessed by each other.

You such a special memory to hold on to.

God bless you and your family,

[Melissa]

Julie - I stumbled across your blog quite by accident. Its a great story. I remember visiting Aunt Mary and she did always look very classy - simple but polished.

[Tammytalksalot]

Julie I am so sorry for your loss. But your story here was so sweet it touched my heart. It's so perfect that you were able to have that special moment with your mom before she passed. What a wonderful memory to take with you always! Thank you for sharing this special story with all of us.

[Lauri Jon]

Julie, so sorry to hear of your loss. Loosing a mother is difficult. Mine passed in 2003. Four days before her death I was able to bring a little comfort by scratching her back, one of my mother's favorite things. These small little gifts make all the difference.