On Sunday, in three days, I’ll be on an airplane. Vacation? not exactly. Where I go it may be raining so much that there will be a lake in the front yard of this old beautiful run down house where I’ll be staying.
But I’ll be spending precious time with this old dear woman, my Mom. She will be happy to see me, she’s already waiting and anticipating my visit. We will have breakfasts of fresh bread- bought at the corner store- with instant Nescafe, or such, and fresh fruits, milk.. And conversations will be limited, or repeated several times with the same themes.
And I’ll be happy because she is my last connection to home. To my roots. To my whole being. Wait for me Mom, I’m coming!