herlucidlife

I never interpret dreams or pay attention to them for that matter. Yet these past years has been so vivid it feels like I can’t ignore them anymore. So full of fantasies I googled what the meaning could be behind the people in my visions. I notice the being that carried me for nine months had an aura of anger and friend energy, portraying someone that she never fit the description of. My fantasy mother is more of a buddy than a parent, twisted with rage at her leaving. While the boy that did me wrong houses compassion and comfort every time I feel a sense of warmth when he’s around. The guy I like currently is sweet and available, he seems to be waiting on something. 

After my mothers death I felt a sense of relief. Selfish but it felt like I began living for myself, not sheltered under the way she thought life should go. Experiencing things first hand perhaps in more danger, I felt life uptick. Cautious in her approach towards the world I was  more of a free spirit wanting to tangle with the masses. Not seeing everything as harmful or alarming, I was finally doing what I wanted. Looking back I was resentful, young and naive to how she was placing boundaries around me to keep me safe. Lines she had found under the Hand of God, her guidelines seemed to align with His. As an adult I’ve come back to that place of shelter understanding that the world and its offerings are not golden but a dingy brown. 

I remember moments in youth where the anger toward her was so deep it was rage. Seeing red, wanting to be far away from how she thought being should go. I got what I wanted in college, behind her back the freedom to do what I thought living felt like. Darkening the doors of the church only on Sunday, keeping the convictions of the Spirit at bay. Mom meets me at the childish place she left me at. Coming to grips with breathing without her, not able to ask her advice or opinion I get angry at how she’s not here to shepherd me anymore. Her little sheep feeling lost in the world God has brought me through many storms. Yet my heart won’t let go of the pain I feel when I walk through the halls of the house, her finger print is being removed slowly. 

Memories are drifting far from my mind, only those super crucial are being left behind. Shouting, cursing at you in my fantasies you never once look in my direction with hatred. Hurt in my heart, I still can’t believe you were chosen to be taken off this earth. Cancer in the body, floating from the breast to the bone, brain and liver and anything else it could attack. You were a shell of who’d raised me. Breaking my heart to the core, your last moment on earth consisted of gasping for air just wanting to be able to breathe but the fluid was too thick in your lungs. I hate how you had to suffer and my only solace is knowing it was never in vain and I know you sit with Jesus as the ultimate reward. Perhaps my anger is misplaced not at you, not a road you would’ve chosen rather it was given to you by Our Father God. 

I don’t want to be angry with Him or you. I just want the pain to leave, is that too much to ask?