Dearest Rachel –
Look, honey, I understand that we’re all on borrowed time, from the day that we’re born. But last nights dream (okay, so it was definitely this morning’s, but you know what I’m talking about) was that much more so than usual.
We all seemed so much younger than we have been in decades. It felt like one of our old family vacations – but not one of the cruises, rather, one of those camping trips we did once or twice when I was still growing up. I couldn’t tell you if we were in our family’s old pop-up, or one of those recreational vehicle type things – you know how dream logic works – but it was something along those lines. The folks were there, as was Jenn (although not Bill or the kids) …and also Ellen. So I was really conflating several different vacations into one; on my family’s side, there was Fort Wilderness’ River Country and our trip out through the Badlands into the Grand Tetons; on ours, I think I was including our trip to Walt Disney World as well.
In any event, I think we were all conscious of having been there – wherever it was that we were – and, recalling the mess we’d made of the place at the time (however many years before), we wanted to leave it looking better than it was than when we got there as some form of penance (not that the folks running the place would have remembered and held it against us). Not that we necessarily succeeded in those games – for my own part, I was trying to water the grass where it was that we were situated (because I think we just either trampled or dried it out the last time around) but only succeeded in flooding the whole area with several inches of water on a relatively gentle stream coming from the hose. Really, I shouldn’t have been able to screw up that much, but that’s how it goes when you’re dreaming, I guess.
Indeed, we seemed to to be conscious of a great deal of things. In particular, you seemed to recognize that you had (have?) been dead, but couldn’t explain much of what it had been like – it was almost as if you’d simply been asleep the whole time, waiting for everybody who was supposed to join you to do so, as if there was some sort of counter in the great beyond, tallying the souls until a certain number is reached, at which point, everyone is to be woken up, and all hell – and heaven – breaks loose. Why you, of all people, were the momentary exception, you had no idea. But you did seem to know that it was a momentary exception – you practically expected to be returned to your slumber once ‘this’ (whatever ‘this’ was – perhaps the dream itself?) was over.
The one thing that wasn’t clear was when this was taking place, and how old any of us were. I mean, we were all decades younger than we are now, but beyond that, we could’ve been anything. From my perspective, I couldn’t tell if I was ten, sixteen or thirty-five – probably the effects of combining those three specific vacations. By contrast – and probably to your displeasure, since I’m sure you would’ve rather been younger – you were the older, responsible version of yourself (despite the fact that, with the folks being there and in their forties or so, they could take on all the adult responsibilities without too much of our ‘help’). Even though Daniel was maybe five or six here, you had brought along his old diaper bag to serve as a pouch for everything he might need while we were on this trip. In fact, there were several occasions where I referred to you as ‘Mom’, before catching myself and apologizing, sheepishly laughing about it.
I wonder if that isn’t one of the beauties of heaven; we can be the age we think of ourselves as, even as everyone else perceives us at the age they remember us best. I’m sure of that, if you got the chance, you would be wandering around as a five or six year old yourself, leaving me to be unable to recognize you. However, I think I would see the late teenager, early twenty-something that I wished could be with me for the rest of my life, while it’s possible that Esther (and Joel and Jennifer’s other kids) might just see you as the forty-something lady who might otherwise have gotten the chance to rock them to sleep in the nursery – assuming they don’t perceive themselves as considerably more grown up than they ever got the chance to be.
Of course, I recognize it’s all conjecture on my part, and that – unless your acknowledgment about sleeping in the meantime is in fact accurate – you would know better at this point. I wish you could tell me, though.
Anyway, this is kind of funny; I had an outline in my head of what I was going to write to you today, and I may yet get around to it, for all I know. But on those rare occasions when you let me see you again, I just have to tell you about it, and thank you for showing up and talking to me. I really miss having you around to do so, you know, honey.
Anyway, I need to get going, so I’m gonna wrap this up. Keep an eye out for me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 