Two years yesterday. It still feels weird most days.
My mom came to wish me a happy birthday last week. That’s how I choose to interpret it, anyway. See, a long time ago (too many years now and I think I’ve mentioned this before), I lost some friends to a horrible accident. Not long after the accident, I had a dream where the older boy was there, standing just outside of the main action of the dream, watching. I told my then-suite mate about it and she said that he had come to tell me he was okay. Since then, having lost a few more precious people along the way, I have held tight to the belief that my family and friends can come to check in through dreams. If I dream that they are there and we are having a conversation or something of the sort, it’s just a dream. If they are just sort of present, not talking, not participating in the action of the dream, it’s a visit. I like that. Whether it’s true or not, I feel better because of it.
So mom came the other night. At first, she showed up, credit card in hand, offering to buy me a washing machine. She was so young and beautiful- maybe in her early 20’s with her hair still long and flowing down her back. She might’ve been in a track suit, but I can’t really recall. I started to tell her that she didn’t need to buy me a washing machine and then it was like I realized that she wasn’t really supposed to be there. Whether I willed it to happen or not, she suddenly stopped talking and drifted off to the side of the dream. I reached out for her and called “Momma!” and she turned around, took my hand and smiled, then sort of floated away.
It’s been almost a week and it is still making me cry.
I don’t miss your particular brand of crazy, Mom, but I miss you. I’m glad you’re in heaven, watching over us and being young and beautiful.