Probably fraught with meaning

Posted: November 11, 2003 in Family, Headspace, Journal

I had a dream last night about my Grandmother. She and I were in her bedroom, and I was talking to her *after* she died. We were talking about the things I wished I’d said and done while she was alive, and we were talking about everyday normal things, too. It “felt” perfectly normal to be talking to my dead Grandmother in her bedroom, which was exactly as I remembered it from my childhood.

She was wearing those blue pants, and that white shirt with little blue flowers, and the mauve house slippers that she always used to wear. I swear, it was so vivid I could smell the face cream she used. Ponds.

I asked her where she kept all of her letters, because I’d really like to read them. I said I specifically wanted the ones I sent to her, so I could place them in order with the ones she sent to me. I kept them all – they’re on the top shelf of my closet.

In my dream, she kept the letters in the cupboard behind her bed. In “real life”, that’s where she used to keep her address and telephone books, and the notebook she took down phone messages in. In my dream, she had letters in there from me, and between her and my grandfather, and my uncles, and my mother, too.

Then I asked her if she ever kept a journal, and she said, “Yes”. Now, to my knowledge, she never actually did. But in my dream she did, and I said, “Oh, I’d LOVE to read it!”. My heart surged, and she took it out of her dresser, and my hands reached for it greedily…

And I woke up.


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