Mom visited Maya in a vision shortly after she passed. Appearing in the doorway of her room while
Maya was overcome with sadness, her appearance instantly calming Maya. She appeared with purpose. As quickly as she came, in a blink she was
gone. Mom has visited Angel in dreams,
answering questions she deposits in a journal.
I’ve sensed her in darting Cardinals and Monarch butterflies, but never
a manifested presence. Maya, ever so
wise, explains it’s because I don’t need her. But still.
Then she came last evening.
She was resting, barely covered with loose semi-transparent
sheets, in a bed located in the middle
of a bustling city intersection.
Immediately jumping to protect and shield her from eyes too busy to
notice, I climbed into bed noticing her battle scarred body. Mastectomy breasts, port in her chest, needle
scars and bruises. I nestled her head
into the nook of my shoulder and there she rested. But I sensed that she didn’t need the rest,
she was simply pacifying me. I still can
feel the sparse regrowth of bristly hair on my lips as I curled closer and kissed her
crown. My right arm, curled around her frame can still feel her soft, loose
skin on my fingertips. Reaching to cover
her with more of the thin sheets, I could sense that she no longer needed the
cover. She visited me in the only way I’d
still recognize her but she no longer carries that frame.
Then, as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. The bed gone.
The sheets gone. I was in the
busy intersection, but no longer and not ever alone.
Awake, completing my morning routine, but ever processing
the dream. Content. Inspired.
Grateful. Eager to journal so
that I wouldn’t forget a single ounce.
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