A Strange Resurrection

I pretty much quit my "pic of the day" and "M’Histoire" blog posts after my mother died. It’s been a while.

Before my mother died, I talked with her often, usually by phone. Because it wasn’t always easy to reach her by phone, or to call when I thought of something I wanted to tell her, I’d have long conversations with her in my mind. I knew I wouldn’t stop that, I knew I’d keep talking with her in my mind. I do, but some times it’s more vivid than others.

The past couple days have been like that. I keep phoning my mother in my mind, over and over. It’s so real that I sometimes forget it didn’t actually happen. I’m not getting to the point of an answer, though. I can almost hear her voice, but it’s muffled and far away. I can tell it’s her, but I can’t make out what she is saying. So then, with the bad connection (etheric though it might be), my brain tries to phone her again. I feel driven to tell her what’s happening.

"Mom, get ready. Dad’s on his way."

"Mom, brace yourself. Dad’s dying."

"Mom, tomorrow Dad is going to receive Extreme Unction."

"Mom, we’re getting Dad one of his rosaries. We’re not sure he knows who we are anymore. He’s not eating. They got him some pain meds. He’s been in pain pretty much all the time. Mom. Mom? I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing much I can do."

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