I've been dreaming about mom a lot lately. I am sorry to say that the dreams are usually unpleasant. They mostly deal with events that never really occurred during her final days. Perhaps this is a natural part of grief, but I don't know.
She keeps occurring to me at the oddest times. A minute ago I could have sworn that I heard her laugh emanating from downstairs. For a second or two the familiar throaty laughter washed over me with a wonderful sense of reassurance. Then it passed, leaving behind a deep melancholy caused by the sudden certainty that I will never hear that laugh again; we have photographs of what she looked like, and we have stories about her, but we will never again hear her laughter, or the sound of her voice on the phone when she said "Hi, honey."
Man, oh, man.
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