I dreamed last night of an impending tidal wave.
I was helping a beautiful woman, weakened by illness but still radiant, with deep cocoa-colored skin, move from her home before the water came. It was going to destroy everything. She said goodbye to her spouse, and left everything she knew behind. She was calm and happy. We walked together slowly through the streets of her city, carrying nothing, passing by others who seemed to know nothing of the impending storm. I supposed it wasn’t their disaster, it wasn’t going to affect them. I was looking for her new place of shelter, but I couldn’t find it. I knew it was close, though. And then I woke up.
Today, gentle rains have been washing Sun City on and off all day. My mom’s chest is filling with fluid, and she gurgles as she breathes.
Life began in deep, dark waters many millenia ago, and such it began with each of us, a cluster of cells floating in our mother’s sea. And at the end, some of us return to the water, as we swell in our extremeties, and then an invisible wave from the hidden recesses of our tired body pushes our spirit up, up and out.