Performed at the edge of Miami, FL in my mother's backyard.
Camera by Eduardo Deleon.
Hours earlier, I had thrown three boxes worth of my mother's used home dialysis equipment into our pool and was swimming around with "her". For the camera, I dive into the pool again and begin to collect these waste deposit bags filled with a liquid that had gone into and come out of my mother's body. The cellulose-like bag and tubing material was pleasing to the touch, and I enjoyed the way they formed into clusters, like a giant, post-medical marine jelly. As the collection progressed, the accumulated weight of these deposits began to reaffirm their greater, psychological weight--as I strained to wrap these pieces of mom around my neck, I thought about the strain of having to perform the dialytic function so many times a day, not to mention the visual trauma created by their sheer, abundant presence in our home.
I exit the pool and walk to my mother's favorite botanical specimen from her yard, a beautiful, nascent papaya tree--the site at which I set down the bags of "her" and contemplate the circularity of growth and decay.
The title of the piece comes from a colloquial term in the medical arena, which signifies that the treatment in question is mostly palliative, a way of "holding on" to normalcy until a transplant can be secured.