Day 10

I am grateful for dreams of my mom.

One of the tragic surprises about losing someone you love suddenly is the abrupt and utter silence. I no longer heard her voice in her own house. She was no longer calling out to someone from her chair in the dining room. My phone no longer showed her caller ID name.

My friend Betsy told me that I would have dreams of her and that she hoped I would find joy in them the same way she did after losing her mom. Oh, how I do! In most of them, makeup is perfect, her complexion flawless, and she is so happy. In some of them, she doesn't speak, but always I am staring at her, drinking in the vision of her and reveling in the fact that she's right here. When I wake up, I am flooded with the joy of having spent time with her. It might sound like I would relive afresh that sense of loss after realizing it was only a dream, that she really is gone forever from this world, but that's not how it is for me. I am relieved, as if given a short break from the daily, sometimes hourly, pressing knowledge of her absence.

I have had nine dreams of her so far. That's about one every five weeks or so. I write about them afterward so I can remember. As time passes, they will probably subside, as Betsy said she really doesn't dream about her mother anymore (it's been about 15 years). I'll have this written record of my short little reprieves with her, not to mention all the colorful memories of real times that I'll keep to hearten me.

Thank You, Lord, for these dreams and the joy they give me.