A Little Talk with Mom

Several nights ago I had a conversation with my mother, who died four and a half years ago.

It was part of a dream, of course – but unlike any other dream I recall having.

Whatever else was happening in the dream, suddenly she was there. I moved toward her, and we embraced.

“How can this be?” I asked.

“What, you don’t believe I’m here?” she replied.

Her appearance and her voice were the same as they were about the time she died at age 93. She was so very slight that it was almost as if she were not there. But however frail she was, she definitely was solid. No ghost here!

“I’ve missed you so much!” I said.

“I’ve missed you so much, too,” she said.

We caught up on a few things; I don’t remember exactly what. I do remember telling her that she had a new great-grandson named Heath. She was pleased to hear that.

Then we got down to business – the reason she wanted to talk with me. We had a few things to clear up, words that had gone unsaid that needed to be said, finally.

These things I remember but won’t report on. They’re too personal. Just little irritants that had come between us. Misunderstandings, really. We straightened them out. Then she smiled and brushed the side of my face with her hand, and she was gone.

I woke with a start and lay there awhile wondering what had just happened. I rarely remember dreams, but this one I remember clearly.

I suppose you could explain it as wish fulfillment, some long-delayed yearning for closure after she died so unexpectedly. Or Easter projection: This is the season of unexpected appearances, after all.

Call it what you like. All I know is that several nights ago, I had a conversation with my mother, and it was good.