Today I woke up comforted and, at first, had only that good, safe, content feeling. I asked myself where it came from and remembered: Mama, who died 864 days ago (if I trust my math), visited my dreams.
It was a good visit, a great one, in fact. She was laughing a big free laugh and said to me: “You did what for me?”
“Yes, Mama, I did those things for you. That’s how sick you were.”
She just shook her head, smiling.
That was our brief exchange — no more than those few words. They were all it took to heave a great weight off me — the weight of having tried to ease her suffering and failed.
Now, from my laughing Mama’s perspective, all that is moot. It has passed — the illness, the suffering, the failure to ease it — it’s all in the past.
And I saw her the way she used to be before it all and is again after it all — a woman of tremendous heart and a tremendous smile.
She didn’t say this, she didn’t have a Brooklyn accent either, but her attitude is best depicted by this road sign:
Thank you, Mama, for stopping by.