Dreaming Of Mama

I dreamed of Mama last night. Not in the way I would have liked, though. I’m still hoping to have that dream where I get to sit down and talk to her, or just hold her hand for a moment and soak up her presence. But whenever I dream of her, she’s always distant. I dreamt of our old house on Marion Street in Kings Mountain last week, and only saw Mama through the bathroom window, walking in the yard. That’s usually how I get to see Mama in my dreams. On the other side of the room. Or a presence in a building, where I know she’s there but she’s not beside me.

Last night’s dream was of some sort of memorial service that was held in the back yard at our house on Crescent Hill. I say “memorial service” because there was no casket. I don’t remember all of it, but I recall a video being playing at one point, with Mama on stage at something that looked like a telethon singing with her old trio. Victoria was sitting beside me, and remarked, “you’re Mama had an amazing voice”.

I don’t remember much else, but I do recall that I was the only person in the assembled crowd that wasn’t dressed up. Maybe that’s a reflection on the clothes I had to wear at Mama’s funeral, when I felt severely under-dressed for the occasion. I sat there in a t-shirt and shorts, I think, (in the dream) and had a sheet pulled up over me. I remember crying into that sheet a couple of times.

If nothing else, it was nice to sit under the trees in the back yard again, even if for a few moments in a dream. And while I woke up in a funk, I didn’t mind being around the “idea” of Mama again, even if it was for a short time at a memorial service that never happened. There isn’t a day that passes without me stopping and thinking about her at some point. Hardly a day passes that I don’t look at her smiling face in a picture and ponder how different my life will be from here on out.

Anyway, I’m still waiting for that visit from Mama. One night I hope she’ll show up in my dreams, maybe sitting in the back yard with me at Crescent Hill beneath the trees. She won’t have to say a word. I’d just love to feel her presence again, even if only for a few minutes in the morning afterward.