~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Mama died, I didn't cry.
I kept forgetting that she had died.
I couldn't understand that.
I thought that was very abnormal.
Something must be wrong with me.
About two or three years later,
I dreamed a very clear dream about her.
In the dream, we didn't talk or anything.
She was just in the dream, and she was young again,
about twenty-five years old,
and she was very happy and healthy.
After that, I had all kinds of good memories of her,
and little pleasant daily reminders of her,
and I see her in myself a lot.

-dale