dreams

I woke up missing my daughter so bad it hurt.  The house dark and quiet.  At first I couldn’t separate the dream from reality.  She was around 6 in the dream, at that cozy, snuggle-in age.  Full of cuddles and leaning her little body into mine.  She was that age again where every thing’s more fun, more special when mom’s involved.  I woke up, my happiness filling the room, and then as the dream world separated, drifted up and away, I realized that she is grown now.  Twenty-three.  Thousands of miles away.  And this is well and good.  For the truth is I prayed nightly for help and guidance.  For the gift of being allowed to see my children safely to adulthood.  And I am so proud of her, forging her way in the world.  Landed herself a fellowship at a wonderful university.  Settled into her apartment, with her Bella dog and two cats.  This is how it should be.  The way of life.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that there is a sorrow, a loss, mushed up in the mix.  My children are grown.  No sticky, plump hands tucked up into mine.  Their sunshine faces turned up to me like little buttercups seeking the sun.  I’m not the sun anymore.  And never will be.  Never was really, they just didn’t know.  And it’s odd to me, how something I dreamt can effect me so much.  Even now, sitting here at my computer, my heart feels so full of sorrow and joy and loss.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, September 29, 2007 in Chewing the Fat