you want me to be honest?”
“No, lie to me.” She rolls her eyes. “Of course I want you to be honest, or I wouldn’t have asked!” She leans up on the table with both arms, preparing herself for the unimaginable.
“Okay. Yes, she said more. Mom told me you’d forgive me one day. She said you and Dru have always had each other, but because I lost my twin at birth, I’ve always felt alone. Which is why I needed to be with Aunt Morgan.” I look to my Aunt who bears the exact same face as my mother. “She’s the only one who understood my loss. You see, Mom’s convinced that her death brought the loss of my twin to the surface, without me even realizing it. So Aunt Morgan and I needed to help each other get through Mom’s death, or neither one of us would have survived.”
“Oh. I never thought about it that way.” Dhelia looks at both Aunt Morgan and me with a guilt-ridden face. Does she finally understands what it must have been like for me?
“Did she say if you’d see her again, or if she’ll come to us ?” Dru wipes his eyes with his T-shirt collar, searching my face for the answer.
“No, she said she’d only come to me if I need her. Though I’m not quite sure what that means.” I pick my fork back up to stir my uneaten food.
“How did she look?” Aunt Morgan’s cheek twitches, a smile trying to make its way to the surface.
“Beautiful. She hasn’t aged a day and she seems so happy.”
“Did she say anything about your father, dear?” Gram taps her plate with her fingernail.
“No, she didn’t. And I never thought to ask. Do you think it means something that she didn’t mention him?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t, dear.” But Gram’s furrowed brow says something else. What does she know, that I don’t?
Dru stands up. “Well, now I understand why you were in such a good mood this morning. It was a bit irritating that I was so cranky while you were so damn chipper. It didn’t make sense at the time…but then I forgot about it with everything else that happened on our way to the hospital.” He shakes his head. “This sure has been quite the day.”
Talk about an understatement.
We laugh. It’s been one thing after another today. Yes, there were good things, but I could do without the perpetual drama.
They continue asking me questions, and I continue giving them answers. They’re almost as excited as I am. Gram’s happy as well, but unlike the others, she seems a bit distracted as she stares off into space. Is it because of mom’s message—or Pap’s coma?
But all I want is for us to enjoy this gift we’ve been given. We can worry about the future later .
* * *
Gram reads to Pap, while I sit on the couch beating myself up. I’m sure I’ll snap out of it, but failed experiments do have a way of wounding my ego.
I’m not sure if it’s even possible, but I tried going back to the vision about the masked strangers. In the past, I’ve been able to replay things I’ve already seen, to be sure I didn’t miss anything. But I’ve never tried picking up from where it left off. Then again, they usually play themselves out the first time around.
But it didn’t work.
Each time I remember my mom’s words—just as she wanted me to—I can’t help but wonder if this other vision has something to do with her warning. I’m sure it’s unrelated, but I don’t have much else to go on just yet.
Nevertheless, my eyes are open.
No more shutting out visions and jamming the fast-forward button in my mind.
These images come to me for a reason, and it’s time I take responsibility for my gift. If I’m truly the strong person my mom believes me to be, it’s time I start acting like it.
For the first few hours, we take turns reading to Pap from his favorite books of poetry by Yates, Dickinson, Browning, Longfellow, and Whitman.
As a child, I loved sitting in his study while he spent hours reading from his favorite excerpts. I notice the Walt Whitman book
“No, lie to me.” She rolls her eyes. “Of course I want you to be honest, or I wouldn’t have asked!” She leans up on the table with both arms, preparing herself for the unimaginable.
“Okay. Yes, she said more. Mom told me you’d forgive me one day. She said you and Dru have always had each other, but because I lost my twin at birth, I’ve always felt alone. Which is why I needed to be with Aunt Morgan.” I look to my Aunt who bears the exact same face as my mother. “She’s the only one who understood my loss. You see, Mom’s convinced that her death brought the loss of my twin to the surface, without me even realizing it. So Aunt Morgan and I needed to help each other get through Mom’s death, or neither one of us would have survived.”
“Oh. I never thought about it that way.” Dhelia looks at both Aunt Morgan and me with a guilt-ridden face. Does she finally understands what it must have been like for me?
“Did she say if you’d see her again, or if she’ll come to us ?” Dru wipes his eyes with his T-shirt collar, searching my face for the answer.
“No, she said she’d only come to me if I need her. Though I’m not quite sure what that means.” I pick my fork back up to stir my uneaten food.
“How did she look?” Aunt Morgan’s cheek twitches, a smile trying to make its way to the surface.
“Beautiful. She hasn’t aged a day and she seems so happy.”
“Did she say anything about your father, dear?” Gram taps her plate with her fingernail.
“No, she didn’t. And I never thought to ask. Do you think it means something that she didn’t mention him?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t, dear.” But Gram’s furrowed brow says something else. What does she know, that I don’t?
Dru stands up. “Well, now I understand why you were in such a good mood this morning. It was a bit irritating that I was so cranky while you were so damn chipper. It didn’t make sense at the time…but then I forgot about it with everything else that happened on our way to the hospital.” He shakes his head. “This sure has been quite the day.”
Talk about an understatement.
We laugh. It’s been one thing after another today. Yes, there were good things, but I could do without the perpetual drama.
They continue asking me questions, and I continue giving them answers. They’re almost as excited as I am. Gram’s happy as well, but unlike the others, she seems a bit distracted as she stares off into space. Is it because of mom’s message—or Pap’s coma?
But all I want is for us to enjoy this gift we’ve been given. We can worry about the future later .
* * *
Gram reads to Pap, while I sit on the couch beating myself up. I’m sure I’ll snap out of it, but failed experiments do have a way of wounding my ego.
I’m not sure if it’s even possible, but I tried going back to the vision about the masked strangers. In the past, I’ve been able to replay things I’ve already seen, to be sure I didn’t miss anything. But I’ve never tried picking up from where it left off. Then again, they usually play themselves out the first time around.
But it didn’t work.
Each time I remember my mom’s words—just as she wanted me to—I can’t help but wonder if this other vision has something to do with her warning. I’m sure it’s unrelated, but I don’t have much else to go on just yet.
Nevertheless, my eyes are open.
No more shutting out visions and jamming the fast-forward button in my mind.
These images come to me for a reason, and it’s time I take responsibility for my gift. If I’m truly the strong person my mom believes me to be, it’s time I start acting like it.
For the first few hours, we take turns reading to Pap from his favorite books of poetry by Yates, Dickinson, Browning, Longfellow, and Whitman.
As a child, I loved sitting in his study while he spent hours reading from his favorite excerpts. I notice the Walt Whitman book
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