You must be
praying for me. I keep having these dreams with you. In this one I had arrived
to visit, and everyone was living in a small, quaint little flat. It was just
the second floor on a tight colonial cobblestone street—it reminded me of some
of these cities I've visited in the interior, with that irresistible faded
glory of the coffee barons.
Conversations,
conversations. I had so many talks upon arriving. I went to a warehouse where
things were being sorted, furniture, boxes, all sorts of things. I was with Terry.
In the end she said she was going to a friend’s place, but that I shouldn't come along. Apparently she had been embarrassed about taking any of us along
when she went to see this particular girl. I spoke with Dad, Mike, but then I remembered
you. Funny how it had slipped my mind, something so important, like, “Oh, by
the way, where is Mom? I haven’t seen her yet.”
When I came to
you, you were sleeping on a narrow little couch on the porch. It had been
raining the whole time and you were getting all wet on one side. I bent down
and hugged and kissed you and you woke up. You woke up thinking it was someone
else, but when you realized it was me, you gave me such a tight squeeze, and
held me against your chest. I began crying.
You said you were
so happy I had come and began telling me that there was so much to do, so many
people I had to teach, so many people to reach.
I cried all the
more saying there was no time. “When will I ever get around to it? There is
never enough time.”
I just remember
your voice, rasp from sleep, chiding me, telling me, “Of course there’s time,
there WILL be time. You just need to stop worrying about what’s going to happen
to each one. People will go their ways, some will leave you, others will stay on
as a memory, like a picture you can hang on your wall, some will go off to the
East. But you've still got to reach them.”
And I cried as
you held me. I don’t really know why, but I cried.
(21/08/11)
