Epilogue

Last night my mother and father came by to see me.  Daddy was wearing a silvery-gray suit, a white shirt, and a light mauve tie with tiny mottled specks scattered over it.  The ring of hair around his head still shone brown with streaks of silver.  Out of the passenger side of the huge green sedan in which my parents arrived emerged my mother.  Her hair was neatly combed, her cheeks aglow with the pinkish lipstick she had used her fingers to pat onto them, her mouth a lovely shade of light coral, and her glasses set just so across her nose.  A floral silk blouse crawled out of the top of her dark pink jacket and spilled a bow onto her chest.  They were early.

Always excited to see my parents, I had been preparing dinner for them; but, it was far from ready when I peeked out through the curtains in my kitchen to see their arriving car.  I could not quite remember where my children were.  Seeing them was always the most prominent part of a visit from grandparents.  It seemed to be that my three children were grown, but that could not be possible.  There was in me a growing longing to touch my mother, as though I had not for many years.  A curious joy whispered to me that Mother was still alive, as the worrisome knowledge that this could not be true nudged at my subconscious.  From somewhere deep within me, an argument arose.  The essence of it was that my parents were both dead, but my heart beat with such expectation at seeing them that I refused to understand.  Here they were, my beloved parents in their mid-sixties, getting out of their car, come for a visit.  Phantoms of what used to be, bringing with them the innocence that had now been defiled.  I did not merely want to grasp the visages, but to return to a time when they were safe, hearts unbroken, lives unscathed and I could feel the oneness of family and home again.

The sun shone on my parents as they walked toward my door, a creamy ethereal glow that emitted a warmth that drew me to it.  I wanted to bathe in its silky comfort.

"They are gone."  Consciousness slowly winning over sleep. "They are both gone."  Traveling bit by bit back to the reality of the hotel comforter, the darkness of a strange room, and the perplexing realization of loss experienced anew, I fought the knowledge that wakefulness would surely confirm.  Like the taste of honey lingering on the tongue, the joy of seeing my parents hovered sweetly around my heart until I had fully awakened.

The truth was that I had slept at a Hilton Inn on King Street in Alexandria, Virginia, third floor, with a window that gave a harried view of the nearby metro station. Bill and I were there to see Heather, her two sons and our son-in-law, who had met us at Reagan Airport only a few short hours before.  Lots of hugs and kisses.  Joy at the touch of a little warm boy-hand in each of ours.  Life had come around.  Thus the dream, I suppose.  The languishing emotion created by the virtual encounter with my parents stung, and as I rolled over onto my back in the hotel bed, I allowed the wistful tears to spill onto my pillow. My heart caught just a little with a silent sob that momentarily took my breath. I wished I had not lost both of my parents so profoundly; wished I could undo all that can never be changed.  I was wishing my father had not forever reconfigured our family history...wishing...wishing....wishing.  I wanted my mother to hold me again, wanted her to call me "precious."  I could almost feel the strands of her silky hair as I combed it once again, and I wanted to hear her pray, listening as she concluded her conversation with her God with: "You are holy, holy, holy."  I was wanting the father to return who was my hero and not the man next door whose face appears on internet websites exposing sexual predators.  Ohhh....wanting.

Lying there, I realized that I had not dreamt of my parents together since their deaths.  That seemed a hopeful sign.  As my tears gave way
 to an unsettled peace, I remembered with an ache for "home" that can never be fully eased on earth that there is a place where there are no more tears and all is washed in eternal brilliance.  The past is cleansed in purifying blood and the future assured by a wounded, risen Lamb.  A flowing river rushes, robust and teeming with life, from a throne room awash in emerald light as multitudes of saints and angels bask in the greatness of their God, singing and chanting, as they extol His immutable attributes.  Jewels which decorate the city walls shoot myriad rainbows of color onto the transparent streets of pure gold, lighting up heaven with unending beauty.  And perhaps, there, in the midst, stand Jim and Flossie, golden and new, seeing each other now as reborn and timeless.  Old things have passed away; all things have become new.