Heaven's Coffee Shop

I had a dream last night that my mom was in.  I went into a cafe for a pastry and coffee and there she was, looking like she did in her last days except that she was walking and not in a wheelchair.  She was a trainee at the shop, and she didn't recognise me due to her dementia.  I placed my order, and she got several things wrong, so I walked her through it again.  She was doing her best.  The other staff there were very kind to her and helped her too. 

I very much wanted to take her out of the shop and take her home.  She had been essentially helpless for a decade, relying on my dad and me for her every need.  What was she doing working in this place?  But I looked harder: she seemed happy.  She was slow, but doing the job with a smile on her face, really connecting with me as a customer.

She walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen, out of my sight.  She was functioning and she was productive.  I should stay out of it.  She wasn't really my mother anymore, she was her own person on her own path. I felt both profoundly sad but also glad for her.  She wasn't on death's door anymore.  I knew I had to let go.  Let her go.

I woke up feeling as if I were on the brink of death myself.  A bit of a panic in my chest.  I felt pulled to join her in the afterlife.  I miss her so much.  I love her still, I always will.  I do, in most cases, enjoy when she comes to me in dreams.  Often as a young healthy woman, sometimes in middle age and still vigorous.  Rarely as her old self, suffering from Parkinson's disease and dementia.  It's been three years now and I still get the notion to call her on the phone and tell her about my grandchildren, her great grandchildren, or the new couch I bought for the living room.

Instead, I speak to her from this side of the veil, and invite her in to see me whenever she wishes.  

Oh What a Night

No, not like that Night by the Dells.  I only wish.

No, my night was full of tossing and turning, fitful non-sleep interrupted by one of my dogs have poopy runs on my bedroom rug.  I decamped to another bedroom and ordered a rug shampooer on Amazon.  The smell.  Oh, Lord.  I've been contemplating a shampooer, as I have three dogs and these things are bound to happen.  But I've been putting it off.  No more.  This was the final straw, so to speak.

It was supposed to be here early afternoon.  Crickets.  

I took a break in my housework today to call a good friend in North Carolina. She's well out of the way of Helene.  A California transplant, she moved to Mt. Airy a decade ago, tired of the floods and mudslides of Big Sur and Carmel Valley.  This woman is prepared. Her neighbours, shocked by Helene, are asking her advice for emergency supplies.  She has a well stocked pantry, plenty of bottled water, and a Coleman propane camp stove.  This was an essential in California where we lived through earthquakes, fires, floods and mudslides.  As western NC is showing us, it can happen anywhere.

Our conversation was a balm to my horribilis noctis. We attended high school together, and though we go years between visits, we always pick up where we left off.  The very best kind of friendship.

Thanks, friend.