Once upon a dream...

Last night I had a strange dream. It was about my last and final day before dying. It took place in the house that I grew up in with my family. How the dream took this direction (I don't know),but somehow it got to the point where I had been given the morphine to help make me comfortable. Although,I wasn't bed-ridden from the medicine. I knew that my time was short, therefore I was running around the house trying to make things right and to warn my family and friends. "This is it, there's no more time left," I was crying out!! But nobody seemed to notice my frantic state.

This part is where this dream becomes relevant to this particular blog. My mother was in this dream. She really didn't acknowledge my presence, in fact, I was pleading with her to talk to me. She was only watching me and smiling. It's like she knew what was ahead and was there to walk me through it, having done so, herself already. I didn't feel scared due to this fact and knew she was along for the ride.

Even though, it's really weird to dream about yourself dying, I welcome any dream that my mom makes an appearance. I can see her move around acting normal and happy. I don't have just a still picture to look at and struggle to imagine her voice. It all just becomes very real again.

The post-it note

There is a post-it note that clings to my kitchen cabinet that becomes only relevant to people this time of year. Two years ago, I was celebrating my first Christmas in my new house with my new husband. Mom and I were eager to put the holiday "party dress" on the place. This included ornaments for the tree, new and old. Yes, in order to help make the tree look fuller, you go through the detachment process of her transferring all your old kid ornaments over to your new house. "They are yours now. You don't live here (her house) anymore."

Well, this also causes a problem at her house. Her tree starts to look bare. So, that Christmas I bought her a new ornament. I had left it for her, so I never actually got to see her face as she opened it when she stopped by that day. So, to make this story come full circle, she left me a post-it note in my kitchen. "Thanks for the ornament. -Love Mom." A month later, she was diagnosed with cancer. We didn't know this would be our last Christmas together.

Now to some people this probably appears crazy, but it's not. (At least I tell myself that.) I've seen people, in the middle of summer, walk into my house and give it the curious eye, afraid to ask what it's about. They don't understand. I remember when I was in grade school, she would pack me special lunches sometimes. Mom would secretly sneak in an encouraging note telling me to have a good day and that she loved me. I would keep that note and place it on my desk as a reminder all day. This post-it note is like that. It somehow keeps her alive and makes her real and it means more to me than anything I own. It's her handwriting. It's her kind words. I am not sure what will happen when the stickiness fades off the back and it falls. It may make me stronger in my grieving process and help me move on, or I face the consequences of resorting to a certain sadness. Friends have tried to encourage me to put up the Christmas tree this year. I just can't do it. It's too painful. Who knows, maybe I will next year. But for now the post-it note is my holiday party dress.