I had a conversation with my mom in a dream last night. Our talk was so vivid that I could literally hear the tenor of her voice. It started off cheery, when we were chatting about various topics, and then caught in a downward glitch of silence deep in her throat, followed by shaky anxiety, a little-girl-filled-with-fear voice, as she turned to the topic of her best friend of 40 years now dealing with (real-life) debilitating pain in what’s likely her last chapter of life, too. I got out of bed, begrudgingly, too slowly, to a world in which I’ll never hear my mom’s voice in my awaking hours. This is the sleepwalking process of making sense of the incomprehensible.
* * *
If you’ve run across this blog post as a reposting somewhere, you can find other blog-musings and more polished essays at Outside the Circle, cbmilstein.wordpress.com. Share, enjoy, and repost — as long as it’s free as in “free beer” and “freedom.”
(Photo by Cindy Milstein, downtown SF, March 2014.)