What a Wonder-Filled World

This morning, I woke up in a strange bed.

When the swift passage of time weighs heavy, memories loom large. In my dreams, my unconscious mind gently pumps the breaks, rewinds my thoughts to then. Then, when the canvas of my future was largely blank. When I wake, even the present seems muddled.

The humidity permeated the faux cooled air; there was the familiar sound of gentle snoring, but it seemed distant. No hot boxer breath, no pillowy boxer jowls spread across my shoulder. It took a few moments for me to sort it out. Ahhh. New Orleans. My dear old friend, still asleep. We are visiting my daughter, spring break in reverse, pressing our own pause buttons. For two days, or, to be more accurate, for six meals. At least.

My friend told me her mom and sister thought this trip would do her good. Actually, she said they thought it would "fix" her. She has her own memories here, from when her younger son went to college, before my youngest child began. When I am with her, and even when I am not, I dwell on her older son, the one who passed away so suddenly a little more than a year ago. To fix her, we would have to undo that. To fix any of us, we would have to undo that. I'm a dreamer, but I'm not an idiot.

As dear old friends do, she revels with me in the anticipation of my daughter's upcoming wedding. Then, back then, when Adam was alive and he and my daughter were good friends and the possibilities for all of us seemed limitless, my friend's mother used to muse that someday the two of them would be more than friends. She's too expensive, my friend used to say. No, they were just friends, family really, and always would be. And we were good with that. Oh how good that would have been.

In my dream, I was at a law school reunion. Though more than thirty years have passed, everybody looked exactly the same. Hardly anybody was actually a lawyer, but everyone was happy and successful, and everyone looked to be somewhere in their twenties. In my dream, I breathed a sigh of relief, convinced that I too still looked young, that my mirror was lying.

College visits are winding down, with only one more year to go. This is my third go-round, and my memories of visits to D.C. and New York and New Orleans run together. When I see my youngest child, almost launched, I think of the other two, how much they changed over the years. I think of her, always the baby. Where's Nicki? The older two used to mock me, how I would constantly spin around and wonder where she was, when she was not yet at eye level. It started when she was born, when I feared I would one day drive off, after settling the older kids into the car, with her still in her infant seat on the curb or, worse still, the roof. Where's Nicki? She's my height now, but I still find myself searching, and worrying.

This visit will pass as all of them do -- much too quickly. In two short days, I will be back in a familiar bed -- still months away from Chicago humidity or air conditioning, a gently snoring boxer with his pillowy jowls spread across my shoulder. I will again speed toward the future, looking forward to the joy and never really knowing what else is in store.

These two days won't fix anything or anybody, but they are filled with promise. We will press pause. We will take a deep breath. And eat like there's no tomorrow.