Whispers

Waken in the dark, a lingering thought of a dream I've already forgotten, still stuck in my mind. Floating down around the darkness of my mind. One after another. Some are happy, dancing and twirling and insisting on being looked at, others lazily floating to the ground.

My Mom miles away in bed at my Brothers house, just a warm little head under all the blankets and pillows. Sleeping away, from what I hear. In a daze I dress and head out for work in the cold she won't have to know much longer. It's still dark when I settle into my chair at work. Hoping it will keep my mind from straying to far away.

The Sun rises as it does every day. It's cloudy, rainy. Dull. Memories keep flashing in the dark corners of my mind. All the fights, the laughs. The things we did together. It's like you are showering me with our world but I see you so differently now. Free. Smiling.

I reach for my phone and ask for an update secretly thinking the world is just crazy enough that you'll be fine. 15 years younger and healthy as a horse. It's sad when one parent dies, but I'm finding the third to be the hardest. The Mother the hardest to grieve perhaps. Attached not only by energy but by blood as well, entwined like Ivy climbing ever higher on the side of a building, reaching forever towards the sun.

1972ish, I'm a toddler, blonde as can be with bright blue eyes and fair skin, my Mom is doing laundry she takes it outside to hang on the clothesline so it can dry in the fresh air and sun. When she's done hanging the clean wet laundry she picks me up and puts me in the basket. Carrying me inside and back downstairs to the laundry room to wait for the next load. She's smiling, her red hair glistening in the sunshine. I'm laughing and holding on as she pretends to fly me into the house like an airplane.

I'm jolted out of the memory by the phone ringing in my ear. "Hey" I say, heading back into 3D land where my job is waiting for me. I dispatch my tech and get the day going. No time to stop focusing on the now or I'll be back to another memory? timeline? who knows. I try and keep my mind quiet while I reach out for my phone and text again to see how she is doing. Still sleeping. I guess that's good. The phones go quiet and it's back to waiting.

1976ish, I'm 6 or 7, it's a Sunday and we are home from Church. We are having tacos for dinner. I am helping shred the orange cheddar cheese into a green plastic Tupperware container, Mom is at the stove cooking the meat. I can hear the T.V from the room next to us. My Dad in his chair dozing off. The air smells crisp like a new Spring, day and the sky is a fresh light blue.

1983ish, I'm early teens, we are heading out to the car to go put out Avon books in all the areas that don't have a Rep. My mom sells and is some sort of area Rep trying to get other people to sell or to get orders either way. I don't mind going because she always stops at the 7-11 gets us drinks and snacks. The houses in this memory are huge and she is daydreaming. Telling me that she always wanted one like that with a porch like that, but it wasn't meant to be, her voice fades out as I come out of it back to reality.

Phones ringing, people talking. Try to keep my mind a blank canvas, memories, like pictures falling, floating and scattering around me in my mind. Some fading away unneeded, untouched, others piling on the floor at my feet needing to be examined.

Another text it's almost time to be done at work and then the gloomy drive home. I will listen to high frequency music which makes me feel better and keeps my mind all floaty and calm It's healing so I'm sure that's what it's supposed to do.

1978ish, It's winter, Christmastime. Her favorite time of year. We are decorating the tree, she has to have it flocked because that's how my Grandma has hers and she thinks it's pretty. It smells of chemicals on the fresh pine scent. We hang the balls and decorations and artwork we made at school, little stars made out of popsicle sticks with our pictures in them, gold glitter sparkling all the edges. I catch her sitting on the couch drinking her pepsi and staring at the lights, a small smile on her face like she's reliving a memory of her own.

When we are children, we see our parents as these perfect beings that know everything and have all the answers. They know how to fix us when we are hurt or in pain, when we are scared or in danger they will protect us. It's what we know. At least what it's supposed to be. Now that I am older, and I am seeing these memories from another view, I see that our parents don't know what they are doing any more than we do. They were growing and learning and battling a million traumas of their own.

So, forgive easily and try and see that you were growing and learning together, leaning on each other for support through the tears, the laughter, the fears and the triumphs. They have their life and I have mine, intertwined like vines climbing up the rough bricks on a building. Each lifetime on this planet coming and going in a divine plan, all in divine timing. Just breathe, and let it all flow the way it should.