Poetry and musings of a zany Mormon girl who is very proud of her Erda roots.

Friday, September 10, 2010

That Place Between Sleep and Awake

Today I went to Wendover with my mom. She took me on a tour of the town: Post office. High School. Corner Store. The house where we lived when I was two or three.

My first memories took place in that front lawn. The grass was brown and shrubs were scratchy. I chased my little cat, Blacky, around the yard and she waited for me to nearly catch her before setting off again. Dad made a pool in the back yard. We sang Joy School songs and played with Lorri's Glo Worm in the closet with the door closed. Frank and Lorri laughed at me when I cried because a huge beetle crawled all the way up my arm. I would shout at the neighbor's German Shepard's if they barked too much. Frank would hog his Big Bird trike and refuse to allow me a turn. We would sing Popcorn Popping for FHE.

I had no idea how small the town was because I was quite small myself.

On the way out of town I thought of Adam. He went the same route, I suppose. Only, he was in the back of an ambulance and his death had already been pronounced.

Mom and I talked about him a little. What kind of person would he be if he were around now? I think mom had it right when she said that he would either have been really good or really bad because Adam was an all or nothing kind of person.

Who can really say, though. Is eleven years really long enough to map a person's character?

He wanted so badly to be good.

Adam was my baby. When mom couldn't figure out how to make him stop crying -- I could. When he needed or wanted anything -- I gave it to him. When he would get into a passion and start hurting himself or others -- I found out that he just needed to be held for a while.

But, the thing is, when Adam died he healed our family.

We all had to hold on tight to one another in attempt to knit together the gaping hole caused by missing Adam. We became each other's comforters. We learned to feel the Spirit.

It was hard to laugh for months afterwards because it felt like I was betraying my grief. It was hard to smile, think happy thoughts, and dream.

I've dreamed of Adam several times since his death.

These dreams have always left me with peace. I never want to wake up when I dream that I'm holding him again. I can't help but love him still. He was my baby.

The first time I saw the 2003 live-action Peter Pan was the fall after Adam died. I bawled for two hours after that. He is my Boy who will never grow up. Fated to ride the winds of 100 summers and never become a man.

Each year around spring cleaning he can take me away to Never-never land to be his mother. As time goes by and I grow older, he shows up less frequently and will one day be shocked to see that I am very old.

Only, the magic will then be that I really can follow him into the light.

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