Embrace Embarrassment

Feb 25

There’s a most specific moment in a recurring dream I have, a flash of an instant just before waking, where if I could I would rise from sleep and run to the kitchen and find my mom there smiling. In the dream, she is present but always just out of my line of sight. I can hear her voice, sense her presence, even sometimes smell the deep South delights that were her hallmark on days when troubled souls just needed pinto beans and cornbread or some fried sweet potato pies. I can’t help but think Heaven has put on a few pounds since she moved in the neighborhood 19 years ago, at the far too young age of 62. I know her laughter is welcomed there, her stories never grow old there.

Her laughter was raucous, filling the space she was in to the full. As a child, it was…

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