I had a dream last night that I was in my old bedroom of the house that I grew up in. I was in my mid–teens or thereabouts. Something didn’t feel quite right, so I started running down the narrow staircase that we had and began to frantically search for my mother.
“Mom? Mom! Are you there? Mom?!”
Instead of finding my ma, I discovered my kid brother laying on the couch crying.
“She’s gone,” he whispered.
A sense of dread came over me, a panicky feeling that I find hard to describe. It was pure fear and abandonment, I can say that much.
But dreams are so often like that, the finer details become lost once you wake up, so difficult to recall and fully articulate.
It took me a few confused minutes to understand that I’m no longer a teenager, but a mostly capable middle-aged woman. I don’t live in my old home, but now reside in my own condo with my 22 year old daughter, not my little brother anymore, who will be turning 41 at the end of October.
Once I realized that it was a just a dream, I felt an intense relief that I was where I was, even though the main plot is still the same. It’s going on 5 months now since my mom died and I still want to sometimes run around screaming for her to come back.
Death is so fucking final. Like my younger brother said in my dream, she’s really gone. There’s no sense in trying to go look for her.
Each day that passes, the void that her death has left inside of me grows wider and larger.
Yet my dream, as unpleasant as it was, seems like a tiny gift telling me that I have come so much farther as a person than I was 30 years ago and that she was a part of that.
My daughter and I have discussed seeing a medium at some point. My mom believed that certain people can truly communicate with the dead. It’s not cheap and anyways, I don’t believe that either of us are ready to take that leap quite yet. But it’s something that we might look into at a later time.
What do you think about the subject?