In the first dream I can’t remember if she is still alive, and get stressed about whether I should I have sent flowers or a card or myself. So I go home to find out.
Deeper in, second dream, she is there, we sit on the couch, and I tell her about almost becoming a foster mom to Bean, and she listens and nods but flits around the living room and leaves before offering any advice. The one time I actually want someone to give advice instead of just listening deeply, aha. I pull her back to me and kiss the dry skin of her dead hands before she disappears completely.
Last dream, she is gone, but I have this huge family I don’t know and I am overwhelmed by them. There is no room to cook in the kitchen because their meals are overflowing so I cook fish in chile oil in my grandfather’s bathroom. They and all their kids come back to California with me, crowding my bar tables, throwing things in my private yoga class. I am confused about which facebook account to friend them with; are these people I’m supposed to keep at an arm’s length or let in to my personal life?
I wake with the lingering presence of her life and existence metallic in my mouth, and the realization that it is mother’s day and therefore an awful day to try and get brunch.