Night Visions
MY SISTER LAURA WAS STRUGGLING TO CONvince my 91-year-old mother that she hadn’t been at a party in Ireland the night before. They were sitting at the breakfast bar in my sister Martha’s sunny kitchen in Northbrook, my mother recounting what fun she’d had at a family reunion in Cork. Someone had given her a microphone, and she shook her index finger at an admiring crowd. “Never,” she told them, “never give up on your children.” Even though she’d had a wonderful time at the party, she was having some day-after remorse. “Maybe I had acted a little too proud.”
“I’m sure you were fine,” Laura said. “But, Mom, do you remember showing your passport to anyone last night?”
“My passport? Aha! You might be right. Maybe I did dream it.”
It was more than just a dream. She’d been hallucinating for 12 hours.
My mother’s limited but fulfilling social life came to
