Dreams. A manifestation created from our subconscious. I was a child when I had the dream of the swampland. I was so afraid to cross the bridge. So afraid of the terror before me. I don't like being afraid, not like that. Not where I'm being threatened. Not even then. I'll step back, but only for so long and then I'll meet whatever head on. After all, we all die eventually. I don't mind taking company with me.
So the night came that I crossed this bridge in my dream. I pushed the overhanging leaves away and pushed through the trail that led to a little cottage. I knew there was a witch inside there. A horrible evil witch, but it was time. I had to meet her head on. I opened the door and entered the darkness. My eyes adapted and I headed to the dim light. A fireplace with a large pot cooking a soup of some kind. There the witch stooped stirring it. I watched in silence. The witch looked up at me and smiled.
My mouth dropped open. This old woman, this witch... how could it be? All the times I had been so frightened of this place and here she stood. This witch was my mother. She was a lonely old woman. There was no reason to fear her. I felt sorry for this witch, this woman. I knew then that she was simply misunderstood.
Aren't we all?
I was so young when I had those dreams. Only six or seven years old and yet I remember them like it was yesterday. One of the few dreams I have remembered over time.
I didn't like my mother very much growing up. I never looked back when I left home. She had after all thrown me out of the house when I was still 16.
To many years later, I see where we both misunderstood each other in so many ways. I will always be grateful that we had clarification.
I have new dreams now of my mother. They are painful. I look forward to the nights that I can dream of her and be happy to see her, but for now they just bring tears.
The first dream was that I had completed her apartment. It was ready to be sold. Then my sister calls me. There is still the house on Sandalwood where we grew up. She tells me Mom still owned that house and now it was ours and then she tells me that my mother just died. "Oh no. She wasn't dead before, but now she is." my sister says.
It hit me so hard. "What? She was alive and now she's dead?" As if she hadn't been gone for the last six months.
So in the dream, I go to our old house. It was so nice. It was still home. The real couches (both of them) in the living room, the old console tv, the color of the drapes. The dining room set and china hutch. The color on the walls, it was all the same and it was home.
That brought tears to because that home is long gone and has been for more years than I care to remember. I miss it now because I am no longer misunderstood and neither is my mother. Not that it matters.
I am greeted the next night with a new dream. I'm suppose to catch a flight to go and see my mother. I miss that flight, but she didn't. She came here instead. I brought her home. I don't remember the rest of the dream except that it sadden me because I know she's not here. And all the coulda woulda shouldas in the world simply don't make that any different.
I still catch my self looking at places that I could move her so she could be closer to me. Habits are hard to break. I still feel like I'm grasping at straw searching for something and just can't get a hold on it. I suppose because our understanding each other was so fleeting.
Bedtime will soon be here. Time to dream again. Perhaps it is time to face the conflict once again. Perhaps it is time to embrace her when I see her in the dream and appreciate the time we have together instead of being overwhelmed with the sadness of her being gone. Maybe she can bring her sister next time. I haven't seen my aunt in a long time. Mom missed her so much. I hope they found each other in the after life.]]>
