herlucidlife

Going to bed with what felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders. I received a visit from you, something I didn’t know I needed. Feeling rather lonely when my head hit the pillow. Picture it:

Laying in the guest room of the house I grew up in. The overhead light shining brought into the room, the sun pouring into the windows. The room overflowed and bursted with light. Beds and cots covered the floor, barely enough space to walk into the room. Waking up, feeling relaxed on a cot. The light was comforting to my eyes. 

 The foot of the bed was touching the head of my cot. Covered in multiple blankets, the french door windows shone extra light into the room. From the room, I could tell the house was bright and airy. I could hear voices laughing in the distance. My mom came around the corner, in a black dress. Her face looked bright, milk chocolate with a hint of ruby rose under the skin. She was glowing with radiance. She looked the way I remembered. Walking into the room, her face beaming at me. 

She said, “you’re awake!” Walking over to the edge of the bed, she sat down. She said something I don’t remember. Holding out her hands, I grasped them tightly. Standing up to leave the room, she sat back down. She said, “there’s something you need to share, I’m here.” I began to speak about the loneliness I’ve felt since she’d gone. 

Speaking of the emptiness I tend to cover with other things, her hands tightly in mine. I began to cry. I could feel the tears streaming down my face. The beauty was I could feel the subconscious and the conscious me crying. Laying in my bed, little Mimi curled up at my feet. I could feel the tears welling up behind my closed eyes in real time. I’ve never experienced a dream that crossed the line into reality. 

She sat there, compassion and empathy in her face. I soon stopped crying. I could feel the love and care emanating from her. She stood up happy to see me, I could hear the voices of family members that have now passed on in the dining room laughing. Calling for mom to join. Sitting up slightly, I asked, “can I come? I want to join!” She said, “no baby, it’s not time for you yet. You have to stay here.” 

The french door closed behind her. Laughter quieted. Laying my head back comforted by her presence. It was more than what I needed because I didn’t know I needed it.