Photographs and Memories Never Die  Email Print  An ancient Zen
Buddhist story goes like this:    "Grandfather dies. Father
dies. Son dies. Grandson dies."  The entire family was furious
at the priest. They shouted and demanded that he go back to the
shrine and rewrite the scroll for them. The priest sighed and
said:    "I love you mom. Thank you for everything."   "I love
you. We all love you…. Please rest. You may go now."     For
months after my mother’s death I had recurring nightmares and
the most bizarre dreams. Many of the dreams involved times when
I was a boy. I would be playing in a playground and I would see
my mother on the other side of a fence. I would cry out, "Mom!
You’re back!" And I would begin to sob uncontrollably.  My
mother would grow angry at me and she’d start to leave. I’d cry
out again, "Mom! Come back!" As she walked away, she would turn
around, look at me, and always say the same thing:      I looked
up and there was an old man sitting in a chair, looking quite
irritated at me. He