I’ve begun to dream. I’m not usually one to have vivid dreams but out here I have re-runs. The same dreams over and over. I dream about Phil and I reaching the northern terminus. At the Canadian border stands my mom, smiling and excited. She’s holding a bright red leash with Sabel at her side and they’re both there to greet us at our journeys end. I never get to hug her or touch her but she’s there.
The other dream is less happy. At night when I close my eyes I re-live my Mom’s death. Over and over. Sometimes I can’t sleep because I don’t want to have the nightmare again. I see hospice patients die all the time but the death of my own mother, the world strongest woman in my eyes, haunts me. Her last moments are burned into my memory and they terrify me. Phil has encouraged me to write about this because as much as I want to talk about my mom I can’t. Only Phil knows what I’m going through. I choke up and cry at the drop of a hat when I even begin to think about her much less talk about her.
I want to remember the years of happiness my mom had. Her reading Mr Popper’s Penguins and Little House in the Prairie to me as I’d lie in bed at night. Her making play dough in every color of the rainbow or her warm kitchen filled with the smell of Christmas cookies. Being a kid under my mom’s loving care was practically storybook perfect. She was always teaching me and knew me, I swear, sometimes better then I knew myself. When I was in college she called me several times saying she felt like something was wrong and did I need to talk? Sure enough, every time, her mothers intuition was right.
I feel like there’s so much more that I had left to learn from her. What will I do when I myself am a mother, up at night with a sleepless, crying child? Who will I turn to? I want my mom to teach me to be a mom. No one else can do what she did. She was entirely extraordinary and in losing her I feel incomplete, like essential life force had been ripped away.
I do know that I’m learning to cry. The stoic Carlton-ness is fading away. My girlfriend has been through the painful experience of several miscarriages and my heart is so completely broken for her. I cry for her poor babies and for her and her husband’s loss. I cry about my favorite tree that died back home. I cry about everything which is entirely unlike me. At moments I just lose it and walk down the trail blinded by tears as they stream down my face. The trail is good for that. When tears start, most assuredly an uphill climb will also. My emotions always give out before my body does. I pop my sunglasses on and start chugging it as fast as I can up the trail. By the top my tears are dried and I’m feeling good again. Endorphins are the best drug my mom and I used to joke to each other after a morning jog.
I think being on the trail is allowing me to enjoy life again, for what it is and in simplicity I feel entirely content. I love the smiles of fellow hikers around me. I so enjoy being able to trust in fellow humans and the amazing hospitality they show almost in a daily basis. To realize that I’m not alone in the world and that others do care is incredible. I feel disappointed in myself that I can’t talk about my mom yet. That my emotions overwhelm me too much to share right now. But I think I just need more time. Poor Phil feels so lost and wants to help me but all I really need is for him to keep being right there next to me and more time to let reality set in. Someday, I pray, I’ll be able to share my Mom’s life and faith. To help her memory live on through my stories. Right now I’m still caught up in the details. This chapter isn’t over yet though. I’m still working on the rough draft.
From Mexico To Canada With Love 
This was beautiful! Thank you for sharing these details about your mom. It inspires me to be a better mother. She was a wonderful example!