I haven’t seen my mother in close to 8 years.
It’s not that she’s dead, but dead to me in a sense. We had a falling out years ago and the damage has never been repaired.
I’m not sure why she crept into my dreams last night, but she was there. I saw a picture of her recently on Facebook, a tagged photo on a relative’s page. It was a little blurry but it was her. She looked older, and more frail. She’d always been a bit on the frail side, slender and angular.
Yet, in my dreams she was young again, fine blond hair resting gently onto her shoulders. She rarely had her hair up. I don’t think she liked ponytails. We were sitting in a living room, both of us relaxing on someone’s sofa while she and I conversed about random subjects. She always had this way of sitting, where one leg was tucked beneath her, the other leg up with an arm draped around it.
I looked around the living room, at the expanse of carpet in front of us that was free of clutter and clean. This was not the life I grew up living. There was always a mess, always a multitude of stains and cat puke and dirt that had edged it’s way into the fibers of the floor and were never cleaned. Yet in my dream, it was safe to walk on. I glanced over to the kitchen, located on the right. No dishes piled up with days’ worth of food collected. No mold to spoil and stain the dishware. I looked at my mom, and her blue eyes knowingly studied me as she smiled.
She knew I was investigating, knew I was checking to see if she was repeating old patterns.
Somehow we ended up outside, and we hugged each other. The hug felt just like I remembered it, a little bony with shoulders rolled in. We were the same exact height. I pulled away and looked at her as I said, “Goodbye Mom”. There were no tears and there was no sadness as I walked away from her.
Then I woke up.
I’m not sure what to take from this dream.