In My Dreams...

I'm a dreamer. Not the pie-in-the-sky variety, but the dead-to-the-world-sound-asleep kind. My nocturnal videos often take me to strange places with people I don't believe I've ever met. Or have I? That's the thing about dreams, you just never know. Sometimes this shadowy world seems far too real to be merely a part of one's wacky subconscious. A few dreams I've had since Mom and Angela have taken wing seem too vivid to discount as mere dreams. The recurring ones leave me feeling anxious, inept, and even sad. 

My dreams of Angela consist of her desire to come back and secure loose ends left dangling by her sudden passing. To do this, her spirit must enter the body of someone who hasn't quite crossed over. As you can well imagine, these bodies are seldom in good shape. My mission, whether or not I choose to accept it, is to accompany her on this sojourn and provide the support she needs to accomplish it - even if it means picking up a dropped appendage or two. It's a race against time as the host seemingly melts away. The task is never completed before the borrowed shell gives up the ghost and Angela must take wing once again. When the dream returns we never pick up where we left off - it seems this task must be completed in its entirety or not at all. It's been a month or more since our last attempt. Perhaps she's looking for a better specimen or a more proficient helper.

The dreams I've had about Mom involve her coming back to die a good death. But each time she comes back the death is no better - it's still death. I've come to realize that perhaps the circumstances surrounding her death are no longer as troubling to me as the fact that she's actually gone. I miss her so and I never, in my dreams, imagined how much. Recently, the dreams about Mom have taken a more pleasant turn. A month or so ago we took that trip to Australia she always wanted. There was no infirmity plaguing her. She was her vibrant, sparkling self - walking, talking, laughing. We had a great time and upon waking, it was a nice remembrance. A few weeks ago, my subconscious happily allowed her to reclaim her mothering role.

At the end of February, a dear friend of our family passed away. She was 'Aunt Hilda' to me even though there was no familial tie. She and my 'Uncle Tom' were friends with my Dad even before he met my Mom and they became good friends as couples. Like Mom and Angela, Aunt Hilda took wing on a Monday and the celebration of her life was held that Wednesday. I booked a flight and set my alarm for four o'clock that morning to ensure I was up on time. The dream I had that night took place in the old house where both Mom and I grew up. I saw it as vividly as if it were still standing. Mom and I said our good night's and went to bed. In the morning, she shook me awake in a terrible panic, shouting, "It's six a.m.! You'd better get up and get ready or you'll miss your flight and your Aunt Hilda's service!" I woke from this dream with a start and immediately looked at the clock. It was actually three fifty-eight. She made sure I got up on time. Thanks Mom.

It's a year ago today that Mom died. The year of firsts is behind me. The heartache has lessened. It seemed there was a lifting of a heavy burden after Christmas. I felt less sad, less prone to tears. I started remembering happier times. I'm not sure what phenomenon took place to make this happen, whether it was simply the passage of time or a final 'letting go' on both our parts; mine and Mom's. I'd like to think she's settled in and 'the powers that be' have put her many talents to good use. Busy hands, happy heart - that's my Mom.

I feel blessed to have the memory of my Mom to warm my soul and until my time comes - I know I'll see her in my dreams.

The rest is pixie dust...