when distance is measured by time
Last night, I had a dream about my mom.
She died a long time ago and I don't think of her often, so the dreams are always a surprise. I try not to dwell or recount my dreams, but these ones stick with me. I think the dreams are a reminder to take care of my grief and do a little memory work.
In the dream, it was her birthday and she was happy. She blew out candles on a birthday cake. I hugged her and told her that I didn't want her to go.
When she first died, I would replay our memories together a lot. But the memories would get rewritten a little each time I replayed them and soon, I couldn't separate the original form from all the layers overlaid and enmeshed on top. Over time, I learned to stop thinking about her so much. To maintain the pristine-ness and precious-ness of her memory.
But in reality, are our memories every really pristine?
The biggest loss I feel from my mom's death is the fact that our relationship has no capacity for change. The memories have an end. I imagine a huge valley between us that grows every year with tectonic shifts. As an adult, I can't atone for all the barbs of my teenage years. Repay the debts of unconditional love, kindness, and generosity.
I'm only moving forward in time, even if occasionally I'm looking back.