message from june

today is the 7th anniversary of my mom's death.

this photo was taken in aunt betty's kitchen circa 1977.  probably her birthday, she looks to be opening something.  joy in the moment.  this would be a couple of years after the cancer diagnosis.  the one where they removed a breast and told her she had a year to live.  she traveled in that year.  and her best friend took her to mexico to get a controversial treatment made with apricot pits. why not?  if you get a death decree and radiation and surgery are all they have to offer you, give some exotic contraband a try.  something bought her 30+ years.  she went to college and got her AA degree, made the dean's list and earned her own money - not relying on my dad.

mom always said to me "after i am gone, i will communicate with you, so watch for it"  my response was always a dismissive: "mom don't talk to me about your dying...whatever you say mom, ok."
after her death, there were small things in dreams. but the clincher occurred on April 16, 2010.

that morning i awoke at 2:45am with a headache and went down to the kitchen. it was absolutely quiet. i stood there eating a piece of bread, and i heard music from the cabinet across the room - the strains of Swan Lake. i had to pull dishes out of the way to get to it, the christmas music box that my mother had given me. i held it in my hand CLOSED, just as i found it. it was playing rapidly as if recently wound. obviously the way these devices work, they need to be wound and opened; closing them shuts off the tune. i opened it and closed it again and then it stopped.  i felt unsettled and so instead of saying "hey mom", i went back to bed.  my mom's sister died 10 days later. don't know what happens after we make the grand exit.  maybe she was circling in close for that event and dropped in to deliver that promised hello.