When That Happens

I'm telling my mom about the photos I'm bringing
when I visit next month
 
I found some great ones of your parents, I share
 
"Oh", she says
" I bet they look good!"
 
A brief pause
light speed through memory
forward
back
no difference anymore
 
Do they still look good? she asks
stranded
imaging I still have access
to a world she's left behind
where time has stopped
 
I synthesize potential responses quickly
landing on honest
upbeat
Well,
I tell her
your parents lived good lives
but (don't hesitate too long)
they're no longer here
no longer living  
I end matter of factly
like the mature sensible person
I never thought I'd be
 
"Oh" says mom
her mind synthesizing slowly
every sight seen then forgotten
"I hate it when that happens"
 
her response could be viewed as funny
it could be viewed as pitiful
 
this new version of me
sees it for what it is:  
apt
 
Yeah, I tell her
I know what you mean
 
I hate it when that happens too