You see things; and you say 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say 'Why not?'
--George Bernard Shaw
I had a vivid and unsettling dream last night. I was in my grandmother’s kitchen and it was bright with morning light. I stared out the kitchen window above the sink towards the sloping yard in the back. I squinted into the light and as I did so, my mom walked up and stood on my left slightly turned towards me, but at an unnatural angle. I didn’t look at her directly but I could see/sense her there. She was wearing a form-fitting black sleeveless top and her long black hair was in a low ponytail. Standing there with her beside me, I felt a painfully strong desire to tell her how I felt. I was timid at first, by telling her that she was selfish. Gaining momentum, I told her that she acted like she cared about others because it was expected of her but that in her heart, she was lost. I told her that she cared for idle pastimes like hanging out with her friends and playing guitar more than she cared about being a good mother. I told her that she made the choice to act like she has no responsibility or control over her life. As I spoke, as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I felt relief. I felt clear and safe. The toxic words, as they left my mouth, hung in the air melting around me. As I spoke, she moved back and forth on either side of me. I could feel her listening and concentrating on my words. Finally she stood on my right, beside me, gazing towards the window but not directly at it. She didn’t verbally and defensively lash out at me, she didn’t tighten up the way she usually would when we argued. She didn’t walk out of the kitchen or look at me. She simply stood there. Her arms slightly bent at the elbow, hands resting on counter, sunlight bathing her face. I patiently waited for her to speak and started to turn my head towards her. I awoke, startled, and had trouble recollecting the dream. The clarity of the dream vanished so suddenly, as if it never happened.