Ramble Om

Your m om and dad  always  drive  the back way to avoid Friday night traffic. They start out going along Novato Boulevard and  through the farms of Novato and Petaluma, up se emingly  random roads, and eventually onto 116 through Sebastopol.  No matter how quick the drive, you make sure to complain through much of the journey. Occasionally, you forget  to complain   as you become engrossed  in the scenery-- spying  the cows, goats, and horses  the car  pass es  along the way. When you have really forgotten your forced grumpiness, you see dragons, turtles, and  grumpy cat  in the clouds.  Your m om plays along, wanting to encourage your creativity.   When the car finally reaches  a little town called Forestville,  excitement mounts . Soon you will be on  River Road in Guerneville.  You forget that you insisted you would rather stay home , instead  remember ing ...

"When you die, I' m  not going to be sad," you told  m e, in a  m atter-of-fa c t tone.   "What? Yes you are," I replied, trying not to show how hurt I was .   "No, I’ m  not .   E verything is transient.  I love you. I' m  just not going to  m iss you or be sad."    "Well, I' m  going to be sad when you die."   It was about sixteen years ago when you told  m e this.   We were sitting on your  c ou c h in your apart m ent in  C helsea, where we spent  m u c h of our ti m e together . I didn't really believe you wouldn't be sad when I died. I thought you were just being an idealisti c  Buddhist,  c onvin c ing yourself you were a strong pra c titioner of non-atta c h m ent . We both kn ew  how righteous you  c ould be.    It  still  felt like a dagger in  m y heart.   I did feel  it  was a possibility that you wou...