In low lighting, you can only see the things that really stand out; furniture, large decorations and people. The eye skips over the little details, not realizing what they are until afterwards. The only immediate prominent feature is a collection of strange looking remote controls sitting on a square ottoman. Leaning forward, I can’t really make out their function. The buttons and words all look out of place. None of them make any sense.

I look up to see a figure sitting in a chair across from me, peering back at me with a secretive smile. It’s been years since I’ve seen that smile. Towards the end of her life, they were tight and infrequent. I could tell that she was trying to make everything look ok, but it kept getting harder. She was always exhausted. It was so difficult to witness her slowly fade away, pain consuming any everyday activities, eating away at her quality of life. It took everything she loved from her, and still she was left behind, until she was finally allowed to cross over.

It’s good to see her like this, in her fourties, young and vibrant again. I can feel tears sting the corners of my eyes, but they never fall. Her voice is warm and welcoming, and we talk at length about many reassuring things that I cannot now remember in detail. One moment in particular stands out, still strong in my waking hours.

There’s such love and and an almost…eagerness in her eyes as she talks.

“There’s so much I want to tell you – so much I want to share, but you wouldn’t understand until you get here.”
I nod, understanding – but still wishing to hear it all. I don’t bother pressing her to tell me as I smile back at her, somehow knowing that she’s right. A small tinge of sadness follows her words, but then the playfulness is back, as is her smile.

More is said between us, but nothing that I can remember now. What remains is a strong feeling of love, pride and a sense of knowing that she’s always there watching me, as if from another room just behind a pebbled glass window that becomes clear from time to time when I really need her. Or when she really misses me.

It is these small moments in dreams that I treasure now that my mother is gone.

I love you mom. Although it feels that I cannot wait to hear your secrets, there’s still lots more I need to do here. When I get there, though – man, oh man. What stories we’ll What stories we’ll share.

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