Dreams



It's my annual blog post on the anniversary of my mom's death. Today it is the 13th anniversary. A couple of times today I've had to check that it's been 13 years. Is my math correct? It is. Thirteen.

I was at my dad's about a week ago and looked through the family photo albums, as I usually do when I get over to his house. I took a photo of my mom and I. I was probably 5 and I could tell it was around Thanksgiving by the pilgrim girl window cling. I was on her lap and we were smiling at the camera. Her arms were on my arms, her hands holding my hands. I looked into her eyes in that photo and wondered what she was thinking. Was she actually happy? Was she fulfilled? Was her life what she wanted and thought it would be?

What dreams did my mom have?

This is the question that made me keep looking into her eyes, wishing she was here to share the answer with me. What have you done in your life, Mom, that you are most proud of? What do you regret not doing? What have you done well and what do you wish you could go back and do better? What secret aspiration do you have that you feel you can no longer attain, or what secret aspiration could you still accomplish? What did you dream of as a kid? As a teenager? As a young adult? Now that your children are grown?

I think this is what makes me most sad sometimes, that I'll never know the answers to these questions, that maybe no one even asked her these questions while she was alive, that maybe she never really got to live her life's dreams. It makes life feel more urgent, but I know that feeling is fleeting. Life is urgent, but boring. Life is urgent, but I'm lazy. Life is urgent, but the days run together. Life is all of those things.

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