I dreamed of my mother last night.
It was an odd dream, it had no rhyme nor reason. My mother was living in an unfamiliar house- one filled with antiques and paintings that were made by us - her children. I watched her intently as she spoke to me - almost as if we were neighbors, as if we haven’t been separated by space, time and that nasty inconvenient tiny matter of her death.
Our conversation was insignificant – I can’t even remember what it was. I DO remember that I had an intense feeling that I wanted to hold on to her and never let her go. I knew in my heart she was dead. I watched her intently as she spoke, and joined her in laughing at something I can’t remember.
I’m not sure what this dream signifies. All I know is that for a few brief moments in the dark recesses of the night, I was wrapped in her love.
And it felt good.
