I don’t know where your mother went

July 29, 2012 § 2 Comments

Linda. I don’t know.

Maybe the same place my father went?  That’s what I suddenly had to figure out.  Where the hell did he go?  It is human to believe that when someone is no longer here, they are there.  And that there is a place removed from ours.

Heaven.  What I love about that word is that is sounds like rising bread.

And I know that versions of heaven are siloed by religion so I’ll avoid that.

And give you my theory, which in my view, can exist alongside, hand in hand, with any religion.

Humans are idiots.

We were so sure that the world was flat, we killed people who said it was different.

Then we were like, our bad. Never mind.

Then we were sure that the earth was the center of the universe, and we bloodied a few more dungeons with people who dared say it was not.

Then with new advances, we were like, oh.

My theory – and it’s as good as any other – is that as seen from a distance from another planet, on which a boy in cut-offs gazes through a pair of binoculars made of cardboard, tape and dark matter, the earth looks like orbs of blinking light.

And every living thing carries it.  Except slugs. I am not sure about slugs but will get back to you.

So, through this boy’s binoculars, all light is equal.  The three orbs produced by an old forgotten woman petting two old forgotten dogs is equal to the same light put off by a king for his princes.

When someone dies, the light stops blinking. And becomes fixed. Every day, from a certain point, our planet gets brighter.

Here is the other part of my theory.  Now that he is gone, my father is actually closer, which will be proven in a lab in the year 2312.  The light that used to blink on in those rare moments when his stoicism dissolved, like the time we both sat at the side of a pool in 1996 and he reached over, silently, to trace with his fingertip a long scar on my leg that designated an old, sad story – saying nothing – is constant now. Larger. Through that boy’s binoculars that light is so strong on me now, wherever I go, it casts shadows every time I take a step.

Your mother is a great woman, Linda. And she is with you.


§ 2 Responses to I don’t know where your mother went

  • Phoenix says:

    16 light years away the little boy looking back at Earth is living the pool memory with your dad for the first time.

  • Linda says:

    Hopefully I will be where my mother went, just not for at least 50 years! Thanks for the blog.I’m thinking about you too.

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