Entrance essay for UMass.

It has been 30 years since I’ve written an essay for college. My life is so different now.

My first go at writing a college essay wanted me to write about something that had an impact on my life. At that time, I wrote about making costumes, and specifically, wearing a gopher suit to school on Groundhogs Day.

Those were easier times. I was accepted and made it through a semester before my mom got sick. I didn’t accept her illness and then, 6 months later, she was gone. I had to leave school. There was no more money for it because of the sheer COST of her death. It is something everyone deals with, death. It’s been something I’ve never stopped being absorbed by, and not in ways that are always negative.

First, I became very goth. Cheerful and nihilistic, playing with the visuals of the romanticized dead. I created art and performances in my 20s and 30s , themes of death and life. I jumped into life experiences head first. I traveled the US and explored places, while I took on the more vibrant side of life as a dancer, a performance artist, a burlesque performer, and an art model. As I reached my 40s, I settled down. I went into more practical work, married, and generally toned it down. Sort of.

If you visit me, you will see my hobbies and passions still cover my fascination as reflected in my hobby of bone collection and articulation. I have a lovely collection of such items, many which I processed and put together myself, in my curio cabinet. I make bone jewelry for friends. I paint skulls in particular, which hang on my walls. I will enthusiastically tell you about those bones – their names, the animals it came from, how this one or the other developed deviant scars, twists, and bumps from damage or disease as the bodies heal them. I think of these things when I hold my collection, how they heal, how they survive damage, and how they tell their stories to me long after they are gone.

I think of these every day I visit and take care of my dad. I lived with him for 2 years after his stroke, and I’ve watched his many illnesses slowly make his world smaller. He’s developing dementia now. I’m more afraid of seeing him disappear before me than when his body dies. My bones bring me a little focus when I feel broken and hurt watching him fade, reminding me of the fleeting nature of life, to enjoy what it brings, and to try and share that joy with him while I have the privilege. When I told him I was going to go back to school, his face lit up, even as I see the shadows in the hollows of his face. He radiates life in that moment. And it gives me life.

I look forward to being there. I can feel it in my bones.