Vivid..

 Vivid...that is the word I would use for my imagination. I remember being a Littlie and watching the news on an actual television that had knobs to turn the channels. Yes, they did exist. I would get so emotionally upset at what I was seeing at such a young age. I must have been 6 or 7 years of age and one day the 6 o'clock news came on  (yes it was scheduled at 6  and then at 10 p.m.) and I was so overwhelmed that tears slipped out of my eyes. (Credit for that one goes to my Lil' Goldie Max who is 3 years old.) It was memorable because my daddy said, "You are so sensitive." It was the first time I recognized that I could be so fixated on the story in front of me that I literally could transport myself to that place feeling all the emotions that could occur had I actually been a part of the storyline. 

Later in life, I was with my Prince's stepbrother and stepmother. I had observed something about a mere stranger and made a passing comment. I could just "know" what they were feeling and was literally feeling like I was in their place. The simple remark I made was met with a judgment. It was then I realized, really for the first time, not everyone senses or sees things as I do. I must be a freaky Unicorn.

I let that go when my life became full of my little people's stories. I didn't need to dream up the accounts of "what ifs" and "what are they enduring". Occasionally things hit my very core but as far as embroiling myself as a player in a dreamt-up enactment, I just stayed in "my own lane". 

Life is less complicated now. The dramatics are returning. Today I was ruminating about the loss of my father and my sister, which feels so recent. In my head, I saw the eventual loss of my mama. I could feel the words, actions, and environment that would exist IF THAT happens. (I say if because she is such a "clean" eater and at 80 works and is a go-getter.) (Prince says she will outlive us.) I saw myself at the podium speaking about all the things we would joke about with her. Her several freezers that contain enough nuts to feed the world's squirrel population. Her schedule is so busy that she just can't get her list done. (She is 80, what list???) I would ponder on the cute poodle perm that she has gotten for the last 30 or so years.  Or the sexy gams (legs) that even at her age rival the twenty-year-olds. I would joke how every time they moved she bought a kid. (We are all adopted.)  I would speak on that fact the only anxiety I had was due to her A.D.D.  compulsion to get things done and off her list. (I was more like her mama, free to be me.)  I would joke how, as she grew older, filing cabinets were considered pieces of furniture. And then I would ruminate on how she was treated like a disposable kid. That her overly strict and absent father and unchained and without restraint mother basically decided their lives were more important than hers and acted as such. I would speak of how much she loved living with her grandma and was taken from her to go into a foster care situation. While her parents were off doing their own journey, she struggled to feel loved and safe. How she was compelled to bring in unwanted children and raise them (we are all adopted except one) and had a special place in her heart that is noncomprehensive for animals even over people. I would say how, as I grew and created a family, she was always there with really slamming good counsel. How she was a great mother even without a blueprint on how to be one. She ironed dad's shirts every day, she was a health nut before the word existed, She knew trends early for homes and clothes. She was always submissive and substantially strong at the same time. She never gossiped or said judgmental things about people. She valued hard work and passed that on to us children. She valued the generations that came before her and researched them and collected the snippets of their lives and made sure to pass it down to the following generations. She collected our memories into files and cardboard boxes and labeled each one consuming vast amounts of her time. She has had children say bad things to her, ignore her, mock her, love her, honor her, need her.

Then as my eyes leak a waterfall, I can feel the very loss of her before it even occurs. I stop the dream. But I realize how I may not have said these words to my mom and how sad it is that I would wait until she is gone to reveal them.  Sometimes the way I see the world is a curse and sometimes a blessing.

So maybe, just maybe, say the words to someone who is living that you know you would say in their death.  Go and do.