My Uncle Dave

I found these two pages I had written back during Kaleidoscope and I wondered what day that was, then I remembered. It was the day I found out my Uncle Dave had died.

The pages:
This morning as usual I woke up around six something. I pushed off my purple silk comforter and stuck one leg out from under the sheet. I thought about the dreams I'd had. First the one where my mother was driving and clearly senility was setting in. I placed my hands on her face, trying to get her to see. Then in another dream my daughter was a little girl again in pink slippers going into a store. Later in the dream I saw an old boyfriend and I tried to avoid him but he recognized me after all these years.

Waking up I thought about him and wondered what had ever happened to him. Then I pushed the thought away because I would never know. Odd, how many people disappear forever from your life. I began to pray, to thank the Divine for a good day, to affirm that I would be kind and gentle in my interactions today. That it would be a smooth and satisfying day. I spoke my desires to that light that sometimes occupies my head.

Outside my room I could hear the noise of my husband building something. I pushed the sheets off and stood up. The first thing I needed to do was send an invoice to the magazine I sometimes write for. I did so. Always a gratifying moment when a bill is sent out for services rendered. To me, making a living as a writer is the very best thing I could imagine. The cat sat on my lap purring madly and the dog came in to get his scroungy head scratched. Time for blackberry picking and breakfast. Then the phone rang. And it wasn't even yet 7:15, and I knew it might not be good news.