Frozen

There is grace in denial. It is nature's way of letting in only as much as we can handle.

-Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

I dream that I am meeting mom for lunch. I can't find the restaurant. I can't find her.  I am on the phone, "I don't know where you are." I am exasperated and demanding.  "I'm at some crappy Whole Foods. Where are we meeting?" I am frustrated because there is no answer.

I dream that mom and I are going shopping.  First, I am lost trying to find her hospital. I can't remember the name of the hospital. I can't remember the location.  I drive around in a panic, risking my own life making illegal u-turns and pulling out in front of speeding cars.  Then, mom and I  are in Nordstrom's.  My mother is wearing a rumpled, faded hospital gown that hangs off her small frame like a curtain.  I act like this is completely normal.  I am not embarrassed.  She has tubes snaking out of her arms and nose.  I am bothered by the tubes, but do not let on outwardly.  "Where should we go?" I ask.  "Let's get a present for Mary." She announces. I have no idea who Mary is.  We head over to a counter where two saleswomen are costumed in Kabuki make-up, bronzed lips, and the black wigs worn by Geisha. "Excuse me, " I say, "we are looking for hostess gifts."  The saleswomen smile and direct us downstairs.  As we walk toward the escalator, mom's tubes get entwined with another man's tubes. I notice that all the tubes now have blood running through them.  I startle at the blood, but calmly untangle the two of them. We walk on.  My mom sits down on the escalator steps because she is too weak to stand.  We descend.