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Saturday, July 25, 2009 

Who Will I Be At The End of This?

I'm tired. I'm hopeful. I'm too busy to be introspective, but I'm also taking stock of my life. Mapping out the future.

Dear Nana, I miss you. I miss you I miss you I miss you. I dreamt you were alive and then weren't. Your home was a rocking chair on the front porch of a house that didn't exist surrounded by the largest most beautiful garden I had ever seen. I looked around wondering if it were real and when I looked back you were gone. It felt right that you were gone even though I missed you. I kissed you goodbye before they came to take you away. You weren't the same later so I'm glad I was there to hold your hand. Touch your skin.

The other night I dreamt the sky was clear when the air turned evil and a hazy rain shattered the blue sky, I huddled inside afraid the windows would break. It felt like an omen. I woke knowing you would know what I meant. That my mother would know what I meant because it's you we inherited it from. Will my grandchildren know what I mean?