One year

Blue bells and bleeding hearts
Clarissa Munger Badger/Biodiversity Heritage Library/CC

 

Tonight at 9:02, it will be a year since mom passed. I miss her every day. In some ways so much has changed. In other ways, nothing has changed. I still feel guilty for reasons known only to mom and me — and Dan, Dad, Granddad, Grandmama, mom’s dad (I have no idea what I would have called him.) Let’s just say, I don’t expect to see any of them when my time comes.

Continue reading “One year”

Mom and Dan together

With Dan’s birthday three days away, I’ve been thinking about Mom and Dan. I’ve been thinking about them a lot and two thoughts have occurred to me.

First, they have given me my new mantra: Not to worry; a good rain will take care of that. I’ll use it after the mantra I stole from “Miss Congeniality:” Dali Lama, Dali Lama, Dali Lama.

Last August, as I scattered their ashes, I was once again hit with the realization that cremains are not like fireplace ashes. When Dan was cremated, some of his ashes were set aside for me to place with Mom’s once she was gone. (Yes, her wishes, not Dan’s, but I don’t think he’d be upset. I don’t think he thought of the possibility.) The rest were scattered by his executor and friend, Harley. I wasn’t in Kansas City when it was done, so it didn’t occur to me that, unlike fireplace ash, cremains don’t just melt away. Continue reading “Mom and Dan together”

Again, in my dreams

Dear Dan,

You called last night. In my dream, my cell phone rang and it was your voice. I don’t remember the words, but I remember understanding that you were someone who knew the family and knew about the suicide. I recognized your voice. Parenthetically, I can still hear your voice in my mind.

I asked who it was calling. You said, “Dan. No! Not that Dan.” I remember telling you yes, you were that Dan. I told you how much I miss you and love you. You told me I was wrong; it wasn’t really you. I believe language might have entered the conversation at that point. Specifically the word “bullshit.” I will never forget the sound of your voice.

You told me you were fine, alive and happy. You just had to get away from everything in your life. You wanted me to know the truth.

This is where the dream took a turn. I started debating if I should tell anyone. I knew if you told me, you were trusting me to keep your secret. But it would be wrong to let mom think you were dead when you weren’t. She wouldn’t tell anyone, would she? What about Scott? No, Scott would tell someone and it would be all over.

So how did that work? There was a body that the police found. At the morgue, there would have been an autopsy — I know there was because I talked to the coroner. There was no doubt of the identity; that wasn’t the reason for the autopsy. But if it wasn’t you, who was it and how did they get your ID?

That is the reason for my headache that started last night and continues today. Thinking too much in the dream.

The side effect of thinking about dead bodies is the dream turned into a cheesy, funny, slasher movie — just like the kind we used to watch together. One person’s head was cut off; someone else lost an arm. A parking garage was involved somehow. Since I dream in technicolor, I could see some of the blood was not ketchup. It was mustard.

Soooooo yeah! Great talking to you. Please let’s do that again soon. Too bad the stuff in the conversation wasn’t real. Good thing the rest wasn’t!

I love and miss you, Danny.