Last night I dreamt of my mother. She was in her early 40’s, in the kitchen, as it was when we were all still at home. In the dream, I knew she was dead while she was standing by the kitchen sink because she’d disappear and I’d be left looking at the wainscoting instead of Mum. I kept looking for her, not quite sad, while thinking, “I know she’s dead but I saw her once, I just want to see her one more time.” She’d appear again and I’d start the cycle over, just want to see her one more time.
This morning my husband took me to a lovely, little, harbor side community where the ultra wealthy have built gorgeous homes, sheltered by pines, overlooking infinite panoramas. I found myself thinking about Mum and how much she would have enjoyed seeing those vacation homes, built from the finest materials on the planet. I remembered a time she was on a bus, on her way to the airport to go to Thailand. I met the bus, as a surprise, when it stopped in the town where I live. I couldn’t let her leave without a hug.
elroyjones 
This one was charming… and I love it when I am the first to like them.
I was so happy when I remembered that I met her bus. I loved my mother. After she died I was worried that I didn’t demonstrate it often enough. She was surprised when I got on the bus and hugged her.
Nobody read the older ones so I wrote them for myself, which is why I told you to write yours for yourself when you first arrived.
I do… in a weird way… write for myself. Like I brush my teeth for myself… you still want people to notice your minty breath.
Yup, I know what you mean. It’s good to have a confirmation of your existence.
The mirror just doesn’t cut it.
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