My aunt wakes me.  If it were up to me, I’d sleep forevermore.  There seems to be no reason to get out of bed.  Much too young to think thoughts like that, I’m in no rush to put my mother six feet underground.  Everyone is prepared to go through the motions of a funeral except me.  Lifeless, I stand at the edge of the hole, dressed in my black suit.  Blankly, I stared ahead as my aunt maneuvered my limbs into their proper placement to get me inside it.  She doesn’t get upset with me.  Her facial expressions indicate she feels sorry for me.  I am a poor, unfortunate soul.  All who see me have pity, knowing neither of my parents want me.  I am a nine-year-old drifter: a passenger through life, wafting about, with no home base.  No one makes eye contact.  I’m an afterthought: a tumor that somehow survived the patient’s passing.  We stand on the hill, looking at the casket as they lower it, covering it with dirt.  The Earth taking my mother back. 

‘Wife’ is the only description engraved on her tombstone.  One last act of betrayal by my father: not giving me the recognition of being her son, or her the acknowledgement of being my mother.  I’m certain there were people in attendance who had no idea who I was: some anonymous child forced to attend (which, in some ways is correct).  A few come over, expressing their condolences; but for the most part they’re oblivious.  Little did they know I was more consequential to that event than anyone else present.  She was my mother, after all…

My aunt and uncle hold a gathering afterwards at the house.  It’s not ‘their’ house anymore, but ‘our’ house.  It’s all fresh, the wound raw.  Every day a struggle.  It’s a war that’ll take years to win: if it’s ever truly won at all.

That night I dreamt about her.  She came into my room, and stood above me as I lie in bed, smiling at me beneath my covers.  ‘Is that you, mom?’ I ask.  She just smiles.  ‘I miss you so much,’ I tell her.  I tell her how scared I was: her only response is a smile that shakes me to my core, letting me know she is watching, even if not physically present.  Eventually, I close my eyes.  When I wake, I know my dreams are the only place I will ever see my mom again.