The house where I grew up, the house of my parents had house number 13. And our house did not differ from other houses. We did not have more misfortune than people in other homes.
Yet when I look back on it later, I have fallen extremely often in the years that I lived in the house with the number 13. I was bitten by dogs, and the most unfortunate moments of my life so far I have lived in the house with the number 13. Yet I have no more or less believe in number 13.
But what will always be synonymous for me on Friday the 13th is that my mother died on Friday, April 13, 2007. We had been waking by her from the 11th of April, and I was just at home to sleep for a few hours, when my sister called me to come back because it would not be long before Mom would die. When I wanted to get into my car at home I saw this black cat staring at me ... and I knew I had to take this picture.
And the moment I took this picture I knew, it would be this day, this particularly memorable day. Mom never wanted to do anything like others. And apparently Mom had chosen to go to dad on a day with a date that everyone would remember forever.
Friday the 13th ... a day to remember. Every year I stop at that day, and it is not a day of sadness, nor a day of unhappiness ... but a day with loving memories of my mother.