Though it has been some time since I’ve written, it seems no time has passed since June 25 and September 26. It’s a peculiar event, witnessing death. To be living one moment, sharing space and time with loved ones like a credit card without limit. Then, the stark drop off of inexistence and there’s no way up or down. It just is. Permanent. Time spent with loved ones is reserved in the time-shared condo of present day experiences, strength of yesterday’s memories and tonight’s dreams. I dream of our mom and Craig often, though the dreams now are mostly of moments pre-disease — or created moments pre-disease.
In one dream, my sisters and I were chatting while sitting in our old kitchen. The metal framed garage door opened with a familiar squeak followed by the dull suck of the larger wood door. Mom appeared in her lilac-colored sweater, her gray slacks and black shoes. Her hair was short and nicely styled from a recent haircut, and her makeup made her eyes as big as the moon — a pale white moon. Instead of beautiful brown eyes, hers were clouded with the appearance of cataracts. Just as I noticed the change in pigmentation, she whipped a white cane from behind her and began clanking about the kitchen, hell bent for her bedroom despite not seeing her way. We asked if she was alright and if there was anything we could do. She quipped, “I feel like I’m cross-eyed and I don’t need any help” and proceeded out of the kitchen and out of my dream…
Random, but welcomed.
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