After a loved one dies, it’s a great relief to dream about them.

I seem to dream about Mom and Dad just a few times a year. It always feels current, yet back in time. That way about dreams that’s only confusing after you awaken.

In the dream, I proclaim joyfully that Mom is able to walk steadily again. I hug her repeatedly. We prepare a meal together; it’s always a family gathering.

I wake up content.

Well. Here’s a poem Mom wrote in 2002, the result of a dream about her mother she couldn’t quite shake.

The Other Woman

In the dream my Mother was so beautiful
striking and elegant in her favorite black
she smiled but had no time for me
mess that I was with baby stains all over
she tossed me her house key and a kiss
and hurried up the street
an unknown woman by her side
they crossed the street
the other woman staying at the bus stop
my Mother kept on walking
then running in her pumps
jumping almost
crossing another street

Where was she going
whom was she meeting
I’ll never know
she died eleven years ago
my Father nine before her
I knew it was a dream
she left the other woman
the empty one behind her at the bus stop
as if she shed a skin
released a shadow
she was delirious with joy

I woke abruptly and I wept to find her

~ joan vayo ~ September 7, 2002

I can’t help but wonder if Mom’s dream involved religion. All the Catholic guilt she was surrounded with growing up in New Haven. (Have I mentioned she was taught it was a sin to pass a non-Catholic house of worship unless you crossed the street away from it first?) Oh, and don’t forget to add Irish guilt to the mix!

Next time I dream about her, I’ve got to remember to thank Mom for keeping all that guilt out of our house. It was a concentrated effort, I think.

Well done, Mom. Now go kick up your heels and dance!

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“The Other Woman” © 2002 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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