Magic

My stepdad told me he is doing a lot better these days (even though he’s never once admitted to doing badly). He said this at the very same moment that he was choking on tears. And I totally get that. I’m doing a lot better too, except when there’s a giant lump in my throat and my eyes are stinging. I’ve also been weirdly engaging in what Joan Didion referred to as “magical thinking,” in which I have very real moments of believing my mother is going to come back, prove everyone wrong, be the first person to decide not to stay dead, and if anyone doubts that, well, they just don’t understand how special she is…we are…I am. Death is for other people, not us.

Anyway, my stepdad told me he saw my mother yesterday, and I waited patiently for him to explain what he meant (was it in a dream or was there a person on the street who looked like her or maybe, magically, did she really come back to see him?). Then he told me there was a beautiful rainbow over the East River yesterday. That was where he saw her. And he choked back a sob, and I blinked my eyes a few times, and we both changed the subject. We really are doing a lot better these days.