I woke up crying the other morning from a dream about my mom. In it, she was still alive but still not within reach. I called her and she didnt answer so I left a voicemail, mad at her for never answering the phone and telling her that I needed to hear her voice again. She sent me a letter instead. At first it was coherent but then it gradually became more poetic and metaphorical and incoherent. She called me heatherflower and said something about black indiana rain. I remember that the letter was in three, like the paper had been folded horizontally before she wrote. Everything was in poem form.

I miss her.

It feels like that sometimes. Like she’s still here but I have no way of seeing her or hearing her. Like I need her and need her and she has no way of reciprocating. I need her but she has no way of being here for me anymore. All I’m left with is incomprehensible ponderings about death and faith and love.

I like to think that she is my guardian angel (am I allowed to have more than one? She used to say that Grampa was mine…), watching over me. For that matter, I like to think that she can see me still and keep up with my life. That she knows who Josh is and how I feel about him. That she loves him like a son. That she’ll be able to see her grandchildren someday when they’re born. That when I talk to her, she can hear me even though I have no way of hearing her response.