First, my mom got on the line. I recognized her right away although she sounded old and frail. It was so good to hear her.
“We’re coming out,” she said. I understood that she and dad were getting in the car and starting to drive all the way from Texas to California.
“It will take awhile,” she said, “because we have to stop at the pharmacies.”
Somehow that made sense to me. Then my dad spoke.
“Hi honey.” I could tell he was smiling in his weary way. “Are you sure you want us to come?”
I was remembering all this the next day when I drove down Santa Anita Avenue and I saw an old man in the crosswalk. He was stoop shouldered. The breeze made his white hair flare out behind his ears like wings. From the back, he looked exactly like my dad, who died two years ago. Mom went first; soon it will be seven years.
Here’s the thing: I said yes. I really do want them to come, and they’re on their way.
Dreams are not dreams, you know. They are no more dreams than any other dreams we live while we’re awake.
I’m dreaming with my eyes wide open. And I’m watching for what comes.