I come from a long line of basket cases and slobs. I got the basket case gene, but of all my siblings, I am the only one who did not get the slob gene. Except maybe Michael, and we'll never know for sure about that. My home tends to be pretty tidy even when I think it's a mess. That's just how I roll.
So imagine my surprise when my mother popped in for a visit last night and said, "Would you look at this place? It looks like I live here."
Which is funny, because my mom doesn't live anywhere anymore.
Could be Nyquil-induced dreams, could be insanity, but I talked to Mom last night.
The whole thing happened in my bedroom, right where I was sleeping. She sat on the corner of my bed for a little while and answered some of my unanswered questions.
"Mom, why did you give the other girls so much more than you gave me?" I asked.
"Because you're the one who doesn't need stuff," she said. "You've never been the materialistic one. I gave you my recipes, my robe and my wedding ring. Diamonds and pearls wouldn't make a difference in your life, but knowing how to make Butterscotch Chewy Cake will. You were always the one who worked behind the scenes, the one who never tooted her own horn. But you never needed sparkles to be noticed. You sparkled enough on your own."
Now it was time for some of the tough questions.
"Did you resent me because I was 'normal' and Mike wasn't?"
"Resent probably isn't the right word," she said. "But I was disappointed that I didn't have two perfectly healthy children for my last round of motherhood."
That felt truthful. That sounded like Mom.
"Was I a disappointment to you?"
"You disappointed me sometimes," she said. "All you girls did. But you weren't a disappointment."
In the dream, I believed her.
Then, as quickly as she arrived, she was gone. Whether I really got answers or just told my subconscious what I wanted to hear, I'll never know. No matter what, it was good to talk to her. For a dead lady, she looks pretty good.