For some time, I’ve been bringing my parents to the hospital. Slowly but surely, I become aware that their death is right around the corner. I suddenly realize that there is not a moment to lose in their company. At the same time, I realize that even fundamental skills can falter. I lost the feeling that connected me to my mother when I was a child. She is losing her words, the notion of time and a variety of movements. As my mother’s memory fades bit by bit, I feel, for the first time, the urge to film her.
Far from seeking the viewer’s compassionate respect, we do everything to sweep him/her along in the fight, undoubtedly vain, perhaps utopian, but a fight that keeps us alive.This film must capture the last sentiments and resentments that my mother can express. It recounts that amidst the disorder of her gestures, her acts and her oral expression, my mother does not lose her emotion or her appetite for the surrounding world.
It also recounts the paradox of our relationship: our reunion takes place in the midst of a disease that destroys speech and thereby communication.
But at least we have the images…
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