something
along the lines of this: don’t ever ever be afraid that I won’t know you and love you.
- my mom, sometime in the small small hours, during one of those evenings that become confused and confusing, that I lie in bed beside her. I answer some questions more than once. she knows I know that she doesn’t know and it shatters my heart.
trying to imagine seeing, coming to accept, to be in and of these elongated stretches of time - to see them as part of an ebb and flow, as part of who we are, who she is. recalling, not often enough, a friend’s words about his own mother, about remembering who she is, that she is there.
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