These nights I’m dreaming of mountains. I’m dreaming of climbing up and down mountain trails. Some of them are very steep and I do not like heights. Others are rocky and require precision footwork and plenty of prayer. Many are slippery slick testing my bodily control and courage. It’s exhilarating, exhausting, terrifying, tricky work when I should be resting. I trudge on up willing my quads to rise to the occasion. I fight gravity on the way down sometimes fearful of putting one foot in front of the other lest I forfeit my foothold.
Last night I reached a summit. The path to the pinnacle was not particularly perilous, but it had its own set of challenges. Loose rock and uneven debris made for a less than certain footpath, and the dense fog only added a cloudy layer to my ambiguity. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wasn’t scared. I didn’t have a trail map…just a sixth sense sensitivity guiding my ascension.
I was awestruck at the apex when I was met by my Mom. Well, an iridescent, opalescent embodiment of my Mom. She told me some beautiful, comforting things, and she even made me laugh at one point even though she never opened her mouth. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know…all that she needed me to know. It was so powerful that after a short while I had to look away already intoxicated by the encounter. The connection was lost. While I wanted our auras to realign, it was time to traverse down the path once again to the base of the mountain.
I was approaching the bottom fatigued from the trek, yet charged by our chance meeting, and anxious over a time our paths would again converge when Miss Bit propelled herself onto my bed in a preschool panic over not being able to sleep. Now seeing as how my head had been in the clouds and I had been communing with the dead, I had a headful of haze. I was moving in super slow motion as I struggled to determine what time it was (3:15), and get her tucked into the side of my bed left empty due to my hubby’s traveling.
She was fast asleep in a nano second, which I could ascertain from the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath. I was wide awake. As I was lying beside my sweet baby girl, I couldn’t shake the certain feeling that THAT was no dream. Now I don’t mean to say that I schlepped along any precarious paths or that I crested any zeniths in the hours that I slept. What I am saying is that on an organic level I KNOW that my energy most definitely communed with my Mom’s energy, and I KNOW this because I feel it with every cell of my being. Oh, and i’ve already had two signs this week.
The first signal was when I was feeling very overwhelmed and wishing I could just talk to my Mom Tuesday night. I said something snarky to that affect outloud. Then not minutes later a sweet little serving platter she bought me during a visit to the Art Institute in Boston came crashing out of the cupboard onto the floor. It broke into three perfect pieces. My initial impulse was to throw it away. I inherited my Mom’s intolerance of wear and tear. Then I got to thinking about the porcelain figurine of the little girl and the doe that no one really wanted to claim when we were going through Mom’s belongings. It wasn’t really her taste, but it meant enough to her to glue it back together on more than one occasion it appears. When I see it on a shelf in Miss Bit’s room and notice the glue residue on all four of the baby deer's legs, I wonder who gave it to her…I wonder why it was treasured by my Mom. I know I need to put Claude’s lilies back together as best as I can. There is value in fixing broken things…in cherishing the imperfect…in loving the flaws and finding beauty in the blemished.
The second harbinger came yesterday. I returned from wasting time shopping to find my I Pod blaring and my cats completely batty. Matt Nathanson’s All We Are We Are was sounding through every room in the house loudly. Now I know there are plenty of explanations, but personally I’m not buying them. Again I just KNEW on a purely organic level that my Mom was responsible. I had doubts that it was her yesterday. I didn’t open myself up to what I knew she was trying to tell me. I was again reminded of a conversation we had days before she passed. I told her more than asked her to send me signs. She responded without even a measure of confidence, “I’ll try.” I guess it’s time I listen.
By 5:15 I tired of Miss Bit’s kidney kicks so I scooped her up and returned her to her own bed. She woke momentarily…just long enough to sleepily say, “Thanks Mom.” I slipped back into my bed and before I drifted off for a solid couple hours of much needed sleep I too said, “Thanks Mom.”
Last night I reached a summit. The path to the pinnacle was not particularly perilous, but it had its own set of challenges. Loose rock and uneven debris made for a less than certain footpath, and the dense fog only added a cloudy layer to my ambiguity. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wasn’t scared. I didn’t have a trail map…just a sixth sense sensitivity guiding my ascension.
I was awestruck at the apex when I was met by my Mom. Well, an iridescent, opalescent embodiment of my Mom. She told me some beautiful, comforting things, and she even made me laugh at one point even though she never opened her mouth. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know…all that she needed me to know. It was so powerful that after a short while I had to look away already intoxicated by the encounter. The connection was lost. While I wanted our auras to realign, it was time to traverse down the path once again to the base of the mountain.
I was approaching the bottom fatigued from the trek, yet charged by our chance meeting, and anxious over a time our paths would again converge when Miss Bit propelled herself onto my bed in a preschool panic over not being able to sleep. Now seeing as how my head had been in the clouds and I had been communing with the dead, I had a headful of haze. I was moving in super slow motion as I struggled to determine what time it was (3:15), and get her tucked into the side of my bed left empty due to my hubby’s traveling.
She was fast asleep in a nano second, which I could ascertain from the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath. I was wide awake. As I was lying beside my sweet baby girl, I couldn’t shake the certain feeling that THAT was no dream. Now I don’t mean to say that I schlepped along any precarious paths or that I crested any zeniths in the hours that I slept. What I am saying is that on an organic level I KNOW that my energy most definitely communed with my Mom’s energy, and I KNOW this because I feel it with every cell of my being. Oh, and i’ve already had two signs this week.
The first signal was when I was feeling very overwhelmed and wishing I could just talk to my Mom Tuesday night. I said something snarky to that affect outloud. Then not minutes later a sweet little serving platter she bought me during a visit to the Art Institute in Boston came crashing out of the cupboard onto the floor. It broke into three perfect pieces. My initial impulse was to throw it away. I inherited my Mom’s intolerance of wear and tear. Then I got to thinking about the porcelain figurine of the little girl and the doe that no one really wanted to claim when we were going through Mom’s belongings. It wasn’t really her taste, but it meant enough to her to glue it back together on more than one occasion it appears. When I see it on a shelf in Miss Bit’s room and notice the glue residue on all four of the baby deer's legs, I wonder who gave it to her…I wonder why it was treasured by my Mom. I know I need to put Claude’s lilies back together as best as I can. There is value in fixing broken things…in cherishing the imperfect…in loving the flaws and finding beauty in the blemished.
The second harbinger came yesterday. I returned from wasting time shopping to find my I Pod blaring and my cats completely batty. Matt Nathanson’s All We Are We Are was sounding through every room in the house loudly. Now I know there are plenty of explanations, but personally I’m not buying them. Again I just KNEW on a purely organic level that my Mom was responsible. I had doubts that it was her yesterday. I didn’t open myself up to what I knew she was trying to tell me. I was again reminded of a conversation we had days before she passed. I told her more than asked her to send me signs. She responded without even a measure of confidence, “I’ll try.” I guess it’s time I listen.
By 5:15 I tired of Miss Bit’s kidney kicks so I scooped her up and returned her to her own bed. She woke momentarily…just long enough to sleepily say, “Thanks Mom.” I slipped back into my bed and before I drifted off for a solid couple hours of much needed sleep I too said, “Thanks Mom.”
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