Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,

Just checking in. I figure you must be getting used to your new digs by now. I bet it feels wonderful to be so free, after so long trapped in a body that was trapped in a chair that was trapped in a  house that was trapped in a world with limits in it. So many layers discarded, like peeling an onion. Maybe that's why I'm crying right now. Yes, that's it, onions. 

I miss you. I have missed you for a long time; I REALLY miss you now. I hope you’re not offended when I say I hope it’s a long time yet (by my measure of time) before I do get to see you again. I feel like I have a lot of unfinished business over here just yet. You were the first one to teach me about reminding People Who They Are and Mom, I gotta tell you, there are so many People over here Who have forgotten. 

As you’ve probably discovered by now, time, just like space, is a relative thing, and since you’re no longer in the realm of the relative, it doesn’t have any meaning for you any more. What a relief that must be. So of course I’m with you now, because you never left, and neither did I, and “now” is all there is. But please forgive me when I get stuck in the illusion of time and space. It’s kind of pervasive. When I get to thinking you're nowhere, please remind me to split that word up properly: now/here.

I'm going to be writing you letters for a while. Some of them, like this one, are going to go into the blog for other people to see, while others will be just between you and I. I think you know me, especially now, well enough to know my intentions are pure and I will not disturb the trust of your privacy. 

That said, Mom, I think you should know that a lot of us over here are pressuring for some sort of service to memorialize you. I know this isn't something you wanted--you were never one to take to the spotlight--but we kind of need it. There are so many walls in our family, Mom. They were built with many motives, and they have served their purposes, but some of them need to be scaled. Or torn down. Even if for just a day. The walls are what's making this grieving process very hard for me. I have been steeling myself against your passing for years now, and I've largely come to terms with it, but the walls and moats and such--I never even spared them a thought, and now I find they're everywhere.

I hope you understand, and that you set your celestial alarm for the day it happens. You'll see how much you are loved. But you know that, right? So many energies mingling with yours, both those who have gone "before" you and those who will come "after", all of which you have touched. You know all this, but we still want to experience it ourselves. Love is like that, isn't it?

I don't want to dwell on your last moments here. I've chosen to concentrate on the knowledge that we are all at cause, on some level, for everything that happens in our lives, and that includes our deaths. Where you are now is much more important. I'll be one of the people gently transmitting that message to those who still fear death. I want you to know we understand.

I never got a chance to thank you properly for your role in shaping me. I tried, but as much as you taught me about words, some things are beyond the power of words. You taught me that. You taught me to revel in words--we wrote some damn fine resumes and cover letters together, didn't we?--but you also taught me love is sometimes where the words end. So...

...

...

Your son,

Kenny