Long distance call

I dreamt Demeter phoned me, something that she rarely did in the last four or five years of her life, because she had become so deaf and was bamboozled by the buttons.

I was in a corridor somewhere when her name flashed up on the screen.  Disbelieving, I fumbled to answer it.  She was asking if she could still come over on Thursday, the day she usually came to our place for dinner.  The last time she was at our place was the first Thursday of last January, before she fell for the final time.

I told her that, of course, she was welcome, as usual. Then I looked around desperately for the Resident Fan Boy, for somebody, anybody that I could tell.  To ask if I were crazy, if anyone else's dead mother had phoned them. I saw Stephen Fry, but decided not to bother him, although I was rather comforted by seeing him, because it was assurance that I was indeed dreaming.

I awoke to a dark bedroom, feeling a little spooked.

Thursday came.  

I was tempted to set another place at the table.

She didn't show up.