All hail Mothers of the Board, Bastet, Brenda and Susie
Here's a part from the book I'm reading now, about a mother, it touched me quite a lot.
When she came out of hospital in July 1989, tormented by doubts about her survival, Mother asked me to take her photograph. Through the little eye of the Canon automatic I saw her hopelessly struggling to give her frightened face an expression which she would leave us, her children, as her last. I believe that she was sure of that. I watched that inner effort to raise her sad, drooping face and drag a smile on to it, while, no matter how she tried, the effort resulted in one single unambiguous expression (which she could not see or know), a naked spasm of fear.
Suppressing a surge of emotion, hidden behind the camera, I struggled between the wish to do what she asked and the terror that, if I did, the picture really would be her last.
'That's it!' I said, pressing the shutter.
Chance ordained: there was something wrong with the camera. And Mother recovered.