Never seeing no one nice again, like you, mama

A terrible dream. In it I was somewhere with my sister and father celebrating someone's birthday. I was feeling festive and had fun with a hool-a-hoop that was lying around. We talked about our lives and shared fond memories of my mother. In the dream, she had been dead; for how long I don't know. It seemed that she had passed only a year prior. Then the dream cut to me standing naked facing my open closet. It was morning and I was getting ready for work. As I picked out which clothes to wear, the memory of my get together with my father and sister came to mind. Apparently, the me that was standing in the closet wasn't aware of my mother's death, because the realization floored me. When I was satisfied that she was in fact really dead and there was nothing I could do to change that fact, I let out a wail, primal and mournful.

"Why did you leave me? Why can't I make you come back?", I sobbed.

The only response was the sound of my alarm going off. I wiped tears from my face and began my day, lamenting it's less than cheery start.

We take things for granted. We deny that each of us owes a life. My mother will die someday, that is true. Perhaps I will go before her, perhaps I won't. One thing is for sure: if she goes first, I am not bashful about saying that I fear it will be a very, very hard thing for me to deal with. My mother and I have always been close. As healthy as my attitude about death and it's consequences is, I know that the child in me, the little boy who always looked to his mother for guidance and attention, will not understand, will bellow in anguish, "Why did you leave me? Why can't I make you come back?"