dear one,
the words come right off the page, and hit me in the heart...
the nightmares, are alive...many years of the dark horses...
did you write this?
love
louise

mutually dear one: yes, guilty as charged, louise...though it is more a transcription of the call and the musings it evoked....yesterday marked the 14th consecutive day that i am aware of in which Mom has spent between the worlds...i follow her meanderings like a detective, like Gretel in the wilderness, trying to find causation and meaning of her "dreams"...who is "the woman who waits with bruised wrists?"...how could i have not seen earlier that Mom's real-life, decade-long refusal to babysit, ever, reflects lack of faith in herself rather than lack of love for her grandchildren...why does she conjure silent visitors? will she demand that they speak? will it work? the breadcrumbs lead this way, then that way, then vanish, then?