And the pain comes in the morning

I don't remember much of last night. The details are hard to recover as they blend too homogenously with the nights before--nights of restlessness, sleeplessness, and dreams of Mom and Craig. I remember releasing Sam from his "tent of fury" (he digs and digs as if gold were at the end). I remember Maxie pinning Sam, giving incentive to put "Broken Leg Sammie" in the tent. Before it all, I remember Mom.

I dreamt of Mom last night, only Mom. It's an increasingly rare occasion to think of one and not the other. I suppose guilt and confusion aren't such rampant ingredients in dreams. During the day, and more so as night falls, I can't help but play a cerebral and emotional pin-pong match between thinking/grieving Craig or Mom. Which one ‘serves'? It's too hard to process the feeling of losing two, TWO, of the people you'd call on a Thursday night, a Friday night, any night. Two people who were your confidants and soundboards. My mom. As a family friend put it, to lose your mom is to lose the person who loved you first. She was the constant, the moonbeam on a long night's drive home and the sun as the morning broke. She was my lighthouse. My brother. To lose your brother is to lose your best friend, and all the stars that sparkle in the sky--the patterns, the luminance, the wishes. How do you grieve them both, simultaneously? I haven't figured that out and my dreams are a perfect reflection, most nights. Most nights, they are both present--either in sickness or in health--but ultimately together. Last night, Mom rode solo.

We were waiting for her for dinner at a Stillwater Restaurant. She eventually wandered in with her striped shirt and khakis, ready for spring and the perennials she planted. Her eyes were down with an expression of fatigue, despite a crisp new haircut and appearing thinner than before. Work was on her mind--not cancer. She had a pep in her step and walked straight, not leaned over. She sat down without effort and could get up as she pleased, not with the care of others. She could order what she wanted not through her ever vigilant daughters. Diet Coke with a twist of lime. Though brief, she was "Mom" without the disease in my dreams.

And the pain comes in the morning when she disappears. ~E