Dreaming Of My Mom Who Passed Away
Oh, you know that feeling, right? The one where you wake up all fuzzy and a little bit teary, but not in a bad way? That's usually my signal that Mom has paid me a visit. Yep, in my dreams! It's like she’s got a cosmic appointment book and my subconscious is on her VIP list.
Honestly, these dreams are the best. It’s not like she’s floating around looking all ethereal and whispery. Nope, my Mom is way too practical for that. In my dreams, she’s usually doing something totally normal, like… well, making me tea. And not just any tea, mind you. It’s always that perfect, piping hot, just the right amount of sugar brew she used to whip up. You know, the kind that could cure all ills, from a stubbed toe to a really bad hair day?
Sometimes, she’s just in the kitchen, humming her slightly off-key tune while she tidies up. It's so familiar, so comforting, it’s like a warm hug for my brain. I’ll walk in, and she’ll just look up and smile that Mom smile, the one that says, "Everything's going to be okay, kiddo." And in that dream, you know what? It always is. The bills disappear, the car starts magically, and I’m suddenly fluent in a language I’ve never even studied. It’s a dream-logic miracle, powered by pure maternal love!
The other day, she was helping me sort out my sock drawer. Now, my sock drawer is a black hole. Socks go in, but they rarely come out in pairs. It’s a genuine domestic mystery. But in the dream, Mom, with her incredible knack for organization, was just systematically pairing them up. She’d hold up a lonely argyle and say, "Ah, this one’s been looking for its friend!" And poof! The other one would magically appear. I swear, if she were alive, I’d have hired her as my personal assistant. She could have probably sorted out world peace with that sock-drawer efficiency.
And the advice! Oh, the advice. Sometimes it's profound, like a little nugget of pure wisdom that stays with me all day. Other times, it’s hilariously mundane. Like the dream where she told me, very seriously, to stop leaving my dirty dishes by the sink. Seriously, Mom? I'm dreaming about you! Can't we discuss something a little more… cosmic? But then again, that was so her. Even in the dream realm, she couldn’t help but nudge me towards tidiness. I’m pretty sure she’s still keeping tabs on my dust bunnies from up there. Maybe she’s got a celestial broom!
One of my absolute favorites was the dream where we were at the beach. Now, my Mom wasn’t exactly a beach bum. She preferred a good book and a sturdy chair. But in this dream, she was frolicking in the waves like a teenager, laughing her head off. And the sun was so bright, and the water was so… blue! It was like she was finally getting her chance to just be completely, utterly carefree. I just sat there on the sand, grinning like a fool, watching her. It felt like a gift, a peek into a happiness I hadn't seen in a while.
And then there are the conversations. We can talk for hours in these dreams. We cover everything from what I'm having for dinner to that embarrassing thing I did in third grade. She listens, really listens, and gives those wise, reassuring responses. It’s like getting a big, virtual hug from the universe. I wake up feeling so loved, so grounded, like I’ve just had a top-up of pure, unadulterated Mom-power.
Sometimes, I’ll dream about her cooking. The smell of her famous roast chicken fills the whole house. Or the way she used to knead dough for bread, her hands dusted with flour. It’s not just about the food, you know? It’s the feeling of being home, of being taken care of. It’s like a culinary time machine, transporting me back to those simpler, cozier days.
And don’t even get me started on the fashion advice. My Mom had a very particular sense of style. She believed in a good, sensible shoe and a scarf that coordinated. In my dreams, she’ll often point at my outfit and give me a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Or, if I’m lucky, she’ll give me a little nod of approval. It’s like my own personal fashion critic, making sure I’m not accidentally embarrassing her from beyond the veil. I swear, if I ever start wearing mismatched socks in real life, it’s because her dream-supervision has lapsed!
You know, when I’m really struggling with something, it’s amazing how often she’ll pop up. It’s not a dramatic intervention, no thunder and lightning. It’s more like a gentle reminder of who I am, and who she raised me to be. She’ll just look at me, and somehow, I’ll remember my own strength, my own resilience. It’s like she’s whispering, "You've got this, sweetie. You’re stronger than you think." And you know what? She’s usually right.
So, yeah, I dream of my Mom. And it’s not a sad thing. It’s a beautiful, funny, and incredibly comforting thing. It’s like she’s still here, in her own special, dream-world way, making sure I’m fed, making sure I’m tidy, and most importantly, making sure I know I’m loved. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade those dream visits for anything in the world. They’re my little slice of heaven, served up nightly, with a side of perfect tea and maybe, just maybe, a perfectly matched pair of socks.