When your mother dies it would appear that you have dreams and dreams and more dreams and not all of them to do at all with your mother or at least not that you can figure out and boy, I really did like that tiny trailer I was living in in dreamworld last night with its Indian-print bedspreads and potted plants everywhere. Did not, however, like it when Gibson needed heart surgery, no, I did not. And when I'm not dreaming, I'm awake, wishing I was back asleep, even with the dreams. I am the Ghost of the House, wandering about in Jessie's old bathrobe, the Michelin Woman enveloped in marshmallow, not even the dogs pay me any mind anymore.
Woke to thick spits of rain off roof, dense gray sky and late. Have to get back to town to babysit that boy who does NOT need heart surgery, no, so that his mama can take his brother to the dentist. Wake up, wake up, brush hair, dress. Eat? I ate two crackers at three-thirty a.m. Reading a book that you'd have to pull my toenails out to admit to- it's that bad but it's almost funny and boy, do I need funny right now, you better believe it. Coffee, what would I do without it? Elvis crowing and he's ready to start his day. There have been two hawks in the yard, swooping and crying and he is constantly on alert, protecting his tiny flock. He is one of the finest men I've ever met, judged by any standard.
When your mother dies life goes on and you may miss her more than you can believe or you can drive past the road where she lived and breathe a sigh of relief and it doesn't matter, the world (your world, at least) has been changed but maybe far less than you would have imagined. Still, though, the very atoms of the situation are different and you may find yourself dreaming of hippie print bedspreads in a tiny trailer, you may find yourself lying in bed thinking, "I'm next, I'm next, I'm next," you may have to hand out death certificates like bubblegum, you may have to water the plants but not, I am here to remind you, if it rains. You may lie in bed and remember this and remember that and your mind may be trying to once again plow the dry furrow of it all and try to make something good, something green, at last grow there and if so, you may be glad when you finally get up to find that there has been rain.