My mother believed in life after death, but she didn't believe in time after death. Time, she felt, was a human construct. In Heaven, there was no before, no after, no waiting, no clocks. We're already there, she'd say. And all those who came before us, and all those who haven't been born yet. I asked her once, "What does this Heaven look like?" And she said, "Willow Lake." Willow Lake, it's in the Berkshires. It's an hour from where my mother grew up, and her family would ski there and summer there. The house had wide plank floors the color of honey and the shingles weathered to gray they were almost white. In a winter squall, the place would seem to disappear. My sister and I went there a few times as little girls, and the house smelled like afghans and wet sand, musty window screens...a roast in the oven. And my mother's there now, afghan covering her legs, fire going. And my father's there, and my sister and all our ancestors...and I'm there. All of you come to visit from time to time, my mother would like that. My mother does like that. She said to me once, "It's all a beautiful accident, Janey, who we meet, who we love, who we're loved by. And this life, it's our dream and it's God's dream, too. And then, we wake up." My mother's awake now. She has the softest smile on her face.
