|Dream Marks on My Pillow by Ana Lancu|
I had been thinking of her off and on all day--my sweet Nanny who left us in June--and another round of loss swept through me there...no moonlight only made me miss her more. I scratched Booker's ears and cried, soft so that no one would hear, as if anyone was listening at that time of night.
I'll never be a little girl again.
I'll never see her shrug her shoulders
the way she always did.
I'll never see her handwriting on a
letter in my mailbox.
I'll never see her listening with interest
to my little boy's chatter the way she
always delighted in whatever I had to say.
I'll never see her again.
Ryan let Macauley sleep with us--a real treat on a school night--and with puffy eyes I slipped into the tiny sliver of our king size bed left for me, my son's now long legs tucked in close to mine and my big black dog in a ball at my feet, my husband miles of blankets and pillows away. Our room was dark and warm and I read only a few pages of my book before I floated into sleep.
And then, she was there...standing on my front walk, reaching out to me with a piece of paper in her hand. He was there, too, a few feet behind her and to the side in dark blue jeans and the striped shirt he had on in their only picture with Macauley when he was a baby. I grabbed her and squeezed her and cried for her to stay. She just stood there and let me, still holding the paper.
I blinked and turned to see the numbers on the clock pushing me to start another day. I stared at the ceiling, making myself remember seeing her, knowing how dreams come and go if you don't commit them to long-term memory...like so many days I spent with her or spent not with her...they just slip away.
I could have cried in the car this evening when I told Ryan on the way to dinner. He said maybe it was a sign but he didn't say of what. If I cry for her again tonight, will she be there on my front steps when I close my eyes?
the heart breaks and breaks
and lives by breaking
It is necessary to go
through dark and deeper dark
and not to turn
"The Testing Tree"