A Life Story of Love & Loss.

Death Walking: A Journey of Love and Surrender.

America.
Photography & text by Barbara Dawn Smith.

In the tapestry of life, there exists a journey unlike any other, a journey marked by the bittersweet symphony of love and loss. "Death walking," I call it, for it beckons us to the threshold of the unknown, challenging us to confront the deepest recesses of our humanity.
As I embarked on this odyssey, I was accompanied by a faithful band of companions - Etta Miracle, a resilient Yorkie Schnauzer rescued from the brink of oblivion, and Jolene, a spirited rat terrier whose indomitable spirit defied the odds. Together, with the guiding presence of angels seen and unseen, we navigated the winding path of farewell, each step a testament to the power of love in the face of adversity.

Heartache intertwined with moments of grace as we surrendered to the inevitability of mortality. In the quiet stillness of waiting, I found solace in the memories that enveloped me - the laughter, the joy, the simple pleasures that illuminated the darkness of grief.
With each passing day, I bore witness to the depth of a mother's love, fierce and unwavering in its devotion. As I stood by her side, I was overwhelmed by a sense of awe and gratitude, finding the strength to forgive myself for the guilt that had consumed me.

In the midst of my tears and her courage, we walked together, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Though our journey was fraught with challenges and uncertainties, it was perfect in its imperfection, a testament to the enduring power of faith and love. As we crossed the threshold into the unknown, I was uplifted by the knowledge that our journey was not one of sorrow, but of sweet remembrance. Even in death, love resounded and shook my soul, a testament to the grace that lies beyond the veil.
In the silence of grief, I found solace in the sweetest moments of togetherness, hidden beneath the layers of pain and sorrow. Reflecting on our journey, I am filled with a profound sense of gratitude —for the love that surrounded us, for the courage that sustained us, and for the gift of forgiveness that set us free.
I chose to embrace the journey of death walking, discovering that love endures long after the final breath has been drawn. For in the end, it is love that transcends the boundaries of time and space, guiding us gently into the embrace of eternity.

My mother was born in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Central Pennsylvania on a snowy Christmas Eve. She was welcomed into the world by Red and Stella Mae as their third daughter. Despite being a girl, she was raised to fulfil the role of the son her father always wanted. Red, a descendant of a Swede who arrived in the colonies on February 15, 1643, was a brave and adventurous soldier who changed his fate and ours by boarding a wooden ship headed into unknown territory.
Named Lois JoAnne, she was called JoAnne by her parents during her tomboyish childhood. When she was old enough, she chose to go by Lois. The name, which means “most beautiful,” “lion,” and “without a husband,” soon reflected her own being. Mom always yearned for more than a tomboy’s country life. As Lois, she set off empowered with her dreams to change her destiny.
When I came into her life, her parents owned an auto mechanic repair shop. Red, despite being unable to read or write, worked tirelessly, with Stella Mae managing the books and business. Mom’s early childhood was woven with the unbreakable threads of courage, resilience, and daydreams, despite the financial hardships she faced.

Mom’s health struggles began in her forties, with a misdiagnosis that left her diabetes untreated, leading to a cascade of ailments: neuropathy, fibromyalgia, PTSD from a devastating divorce, acute depression, anxiety, delusions, paranoia and multiple forms of dementia, including vascular and Alzheimer's. Parkinson’s disease further compounded her sufferings.
Despite these immense challenges and life-altering diagnoses, Mom remained gracious, caring, and giving. She was as fierce as a lion—brave, courageous, and undaunted. I never witnessed her cry, not even a single tear. Together, we death-walked through her final days, a testament to the unbreakable bond of mother-daughter unconditional love that we shared. This is our story, a tribute to her strength, her loves, her losses, and the indelible mark she left on my heart.

Love.
Before her health started to decline, Mom’s life was filled with passion for activity and adventure. She loved to dance. In ballet class, she found control and freedom of movement, skills she mastered in all aspects of her life. She was even voted prom queen of her class, a real "looker" with her mossy, gold-flecked green eyes. My mom’s pink crinoline prom queen gown and my grandfather’s winning ribbons saturated my heart with wonder as a child. There was a magnificent beauty there that no one ever talked about, touching me deeply to my core. Above all, Mom had a deep love for her children, grandchildren, and her faithful dogs, as we wove in and out of her life.

Loss.
As dementia and other illnesses took their toll, Mom slowly lost the things she loved, one by one. Her freedom, her sense of adventure, and her capacity to enjoy life without crippling anxiety, fear, and paranoia slipped away like the last whispers of an echo fading from a deep cave.
The greatest loss she faced was her independence. In a time when women were not typically independent, Mom stood out as a magnificent, fierce, autonomous woman. Losing her independence and control was a profound and heartbreaking blow. She had always been a trailblazer, valuing her autonomy above all else, and seeing that taken from her was devastating. Her days became marked by a series of losses, each one chipping away at the vibrant woman she once was. Her ability to dance, to ride horses, to travel, all were gradually taken from her. The pink crinoline prom queen gown, the ribbons and trophies from her father’s rodeo days, and the memories of serving burgers on roller skates at the drive-in movie theater, all these tangible pieces of her past became ghosts of a forgotten era.

Surrender.
Despite these immense challenges, Mom faced her losses with incredible grace. Even as her world became smaller, she held on to her dignity. Her physical body was battered, but her spirit remained unbroken. She continued to teach me valuable lessons about resilience and the strength of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable adversity.
Her decline was a slow, agonizing process, but it was also a testament to her enduring strength. Every day, as she faced the erosion of her capabilities, she demonstrated an unwavering determination to hold on to the essence of who she was. Even as her mind and body betrayed her, she remained a symbol of courage and love, deeply influencing me.
Her legacy is not defined by the illnesses that took her, nor by my grief and loneliness, but by the fierce, independent, and loving woman she always was. Her story, my story, and our story woven together is a glimpse of love through the veil. A signpost leading to a path that takes you closest to the veil at its thinnest time, where it is possible to experience the eternal love that is ever-present, surrounding us, radiating from within us, filling hearts.

Thanks for reading and sharing. You can see more documentary work by Barbara Dawn Smith here.