When my children were born (especially that first one), I moved from one understanding of life and how it lived to another. My perspective shifted. I was the same person living a new reality. Let’s not get too sentimental, though.
I woke up in the middle of the night with my mother on my mind. No, I wasn’t dreaming about her (I haven’t yet, I don’t think). But I was having trouble regulating my body temperature (too warm despite the air conditioning) and awoke thinking about the advice my mom had given me about menopause.
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.
Okay, I’ve been holding back on this one for a while. But I’ve been receiving condolences now for over four weeks. Every single day, no exaggeration. These days, it may be just one or two people in a twenty-four hour period.
It’s true; it does happen. Just caught myself doing it. And the answer to my question—who exactly would I try to bargain with—it turns out the answer is HER.
Now when I talk to myself, I can pretend I’m talking to my mother. That’s an unexpectedly happy development. Not only that, I find that I know exactly what she would say. Or at least I think I know what she would say.
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