A Peculiar Dream I Had

B & W

I dreamt you were a naked doll, sized true-to-life. You were assembled like the art manikin I use for sketching, only your head was your actual head—your face was arranged in a placid expression. A random little girl had fished you out of a cold river, and I snatched you from her greedy arms as she was celebrating her catch.

“She’s too big for you,” I cried. Cradling you, I carried you away from the shore lowly lit by a dull sun, and into the damp grey woods. I was chased by faceless men who wanted you, and I heard the little girl lamenting. “Fuck you! She’s mine,” I kept yelling. “You can’t have my mother!”

Then you were alive, penned in a clearing. You were dressed in a red shirt, and faded blue jeans. I couldn’t make out the silent words rushing from your mouth. I could only pay attention to the man with a sword. You were murdered in front of me. I saw the long blade enter you through your back—through your thoracic spine.

The death scene repeated like cruelly spliced film. I watched your face fade away and reappear again and again, for an immeasurable space of time, until the phone began to ring.

Stood in the driveway of our house in Lapeer, I kicked at the loose stones, waiting for the ringing to stop.

“It’s for you,” said someone lounging in the bed of a pick-up truck. An unrecognizable guy with long, dirty blond hair. I took the tan receiver, and pressed it against my aching head.

“Mom.” I knew it was you. And I knew you were dead. I know you are dead. “I love you. I miss you so much, Mom.”

There was a long, crackling silence. Then you said, “I think of you all the time.”

 

(image: Freepik)

44 Comments

    1. I write because I need to do it. But I also write to connect with people. It makes feel less lonely to know I’m reaching other hearts. And, it is a true privilege, being a writer. An honor to touch others so deeply. Thank you for everything you do for me. You inspire me, encourage me, soothe my soul. Hugs and love to you, Aurora. ❤

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  1. Wow! I don’t know what to say… this is so beautifully expressed and meaningful. Like others have said in the comments, you have a way of connecting us to your grief in a way no one else could ever do. It’s truly a gift to be able to use words to transport another into your own experience. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I have been deeply moved by all your pieces about your mother and it really came together for me today that you have created the language you needed to express your grief, which has become a gift to all of us who have experienced these type of earth-shattering losses

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Because of the subject matter, I feel torn about how to comment on this…but I must. It’s stunning, Kindra. It’s a rare gift you have. I had tears in my eyes, reading this. ❤

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