Dream of Me

November 3

Most of the dreams were about her, though. Actually, all that I can remember now were of her. It wasn't just tracings and copies of the past, but new, authentic, real interaction and conversation. My mind was carrying on in a dream world as if she had never died in the real one. Eventually, I began to appreciate my time asleep more than my time in reality. My father was present, but he had never been the nurturer that my mother was. I got to know him better, gradually, as he worked through his heartache and soon recognized mine. He began to take time away from his office to spend time with Addy and I. He would take us out for ice cream, bring us to the mall, walk with us to the park, like she once did. It was a different dynamic than I had been used to, but it was good. Most days, it was good. Despite the slow growth of a relationship with my father, I still went to bed eager. Eager to see her again, to feel her arms around me, to embrace the warmth that her live body shared with my dream one.

"Hi," her face would suddenly appear moments after I closed my eyes.

"Hi," I would reply. We would stand there, surrounded by blowing leaves and shaking trees. The air was warm, though, unlike the winter winds of the Vancouver suburbs that we had experienced together months ago. Her eyes were always glowing, her large smile revealing the top of her parallel teeth, thick black strands of hair blowing in and out of her face, hands in pockets, scarf barely caressing her jawline. She wore a black button-up coat, rosy cheeks, and crowfeet. At this

"I'm so tired, mum."

"I know, baby." We started facing each other, as if mirror images, with leaves playing tag around our feet and the grass around us slowly pulsing with life. It had that effect in some of my dreams—more than just natural growth, it was alive and active. After moments of lingering silence, I ran to her and we nestled ourselves into the living grass.

"Is it going to go away?"

"It might go away at certain times, but it will come back. But you can handle it, August. Sometimes it will feel like you can't go on for even another second, but you will. You always keep going. Don't give up on the world just yet. There's so much to explore still. The pain will always be there, and eventually a new pain will replace the old one, and a new one that one, and on and on. But don't give up. Pain is unavoidable, baby. You live with it or you live through it."

"I guess so. I can't imagine one worse than this, though."

"Oh, sweetie, you will come to pains that feel like they are insurmountable. Some of them will feel worse than this. You might get your heart broken. You might let a friend down. You might meet someone that becomes a part of you and then decides to leave with half of you. It will come, but so will the good. You'll meet people that make living on this planet worthwhile. And that goodness has the power to overcome all the rest."

We sat there for hours, my head on her lap, picking up leaves and tearing them down the middle to make butterflies with the stem and release them into the warm wind.

"You have to wake up soon, sweetie."

"I don't want to."

"I know." We sat longer in the comfortable, welcome silence. I could feel her warmth inside of my soul, although I wasn't even sure how I was able to feel my own soul, but it was a warmth that I couldn't explain in the morning. She was leaning back on her hands, looking up at the sky and smiling to herself as she hummed random melodies that came to her in the wind. The warm and gently breeze seemed to hug the both of us within its transparent arms. This was a world that I didn't want to wake up from. If I could've stayed there for the rest of my life, I would've. But she had been right. It was time for me to wake up.