Posted by: pendrops | February 9, 2007

sweet dreams

krista_and_grandpa_arlie.jpg

The dreams I typically remember are bad dreams, sad dreams, dreams that involve the death of my sweet little dog, Izzy. Odd, I know. Even more typically, I don’t remember my dreams, waking to nothing but a blank slate.

But this morning, I rose with the warmest sensation and tears in my still-unopened eyes. As the clouds of grogginess parted, I realized the source of this lingering warmth: a dream. Even now, I still feel it.

We all have these dreams that seem so real, so tangible, that we wake up wondering, “Did that really happen?” We know full well that it couldn’t have happened because, in fact, we were roaming around Mars without a spacesuit holding hands with Scobby Doo and eating green cheese from our trip to the moon. “But it felt so real,” we tell ourselves all morning. That was the kind of dream I woke to this morning.

In this messy conglomeration, this land between reality and fantasy, I found myself in a rustic banquet hall, the kind of banquet hall you might find in the mountains of Colorado. Pristine, but earthy. Not only was I there, but I was the hostess, a master of ceremonies. But I don’t know what the ceremony was about, I never got around to it. I was too busy flitting and buzzing, the social butterfly of this event. And it wasn’t strangers I greeted, mixed and mingled with; it was my family. Hendryxes. Askews. Cousins. Great uncles. Everyone was there.

Then I saw them and knew this was a most precious and unique family reunion. Not only were the living chattering and laughing around me, the dead had shown up, too. Just as alive as ever. Gram. P.A. Junebug. I stared at them, unable to move (a common characteristic of dreams). I was cemented in place, struggling to believe they were here, in the flesh. They had come to my reunion.

Then my eyes fell on Grandpa Arlie, and I could move again. I ran to him, climbed into his lap, and hugged him tight as I could around his neck. He’s been gone the longest, you see…nearly 17 years.

Grandma June just smiled and patted my back while I stayed in Grandpa’s lap. A little later, I whispered something to Grandpa – I don’t know what – and he smiled, never saying a word. But his smile said enough.

And that’s what I woke to…his smile and happy tears on my pillow.

I don’t know what it means. I’m sure Freud and Jung could tell me. I guess it has something to do with a deep aching, missing someone, just longing to see them for a minute. Or it could be something more.

I don’t know much about heaven. I’ve heard the sermons, seen the books, read the verses, but there’s still so much mystery, so much unknown. But maybe my dream was a glimmer of what a moment there will be like, where we get to see them again, whisper a secret and feel them smile.

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Responses

  1. What a beautiful dream – maybe you whispered to Grandpa you have some quarters for him.


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