I wonder where you are. Are you and Dad soaring through the afterlife? He of his own volition, and you climbing heights without fear?
Or is the afterlife akin to the natural order of the earth? Has your soul been "recycled" into a fresh life? A newborn squirming, squealing, giving your love to another mother who cradles you in her arms?
However it works, I do hope before you started your next adventure you got a chance to see how this one ended.
I hope you are proud of what The Other Girl, myself, and an entire army of loved ones did to keep you safe, engaged, and in fleeting moments, happy.
And sometimes when I am delicately pulling out parts of you to treasure I make myself laugh thinking of complaints you may have as you review your final years -
"I didn't like peanut butter that much!"
"Really? You killed all my houseplants?"
"I gotta say, for five years you were a little stingy with the ice cream."
I also wonder where I am. Sometimes focused and driven, tingling in excitement and fear for a new project with our old friend dementia. Sometimes adrift, listless, empty - still courting disaster with unsavory habits in an attempt to fill the void you and Dad have left.
I wonder if you are able to see all roads now. Do you know where I am going? Do you see my missteps, hold your breath to see if I will self-correct? Do you cheer for me when I finally stumble forward in the right direction?
Or is all that behind you now? Once you are privy to the secrets of the universe do earthly concerns drop away? Do you look forward, not back?
If true, that is probably to my benefit.
Do you remember when I was a surly teenager and said "Looks like every day is Mother's Day to me..." after a harsh reprimand from Dad because The Other Girl and I did nothing for you on Mother's Day?
Do you know I wish you the most wonderful Mother's Day of your entire existence this Mother's Day? If that type of thing holds any weight for you now, I know it shall be so, and I thank you for loving that rotten teenager and the rotten teenager that came after her.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Sorry about the houseplants.