Tuesday, January 8, 2013

It Just Can't Be

Have you ever had one of those moments when you sit up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, and ask yourself, no it had to be a dream, didn't it?

Last night was just such a night. 

In preparing to sell my mother's house, we had cleaned everything out, thrown away what we deemed as trash, boxed up the rest, and moved it to storage. It took me a while to get over the guilt of making decisions over Mama's possessions, but soon exhaustion overtook any remorse I had. 

The couple buying the house wanted to see the house clean (ie without all the mess we had made with the boxes and trash sorting Mama's accumulated  personal possessions). However, we wanted to leave it furnished just in case they decided they were not interested after all.

So we had Mama's house totally clean and furnished, but empty of all her other possessions we had previously moved. One could walk in the house and it looked just like it did when she lived there - perfectly clean, pictures on the wall, nic nacs and coffee table books on the tables, etc. But, nothing was in the drawers, in the closets, under the beds, or in the many cubbie holes she had in various places through out the house.

I got to the house before the couple. As I walked in, there on the sofa, lying in repose, was my mother. My first thing that ran through my mind was - no, I have not been drinking. I walked over to her to pay my respects. As I leaned down, she opened her eyes.

"Oh, I'm back home," were her first words. This is a miracle, was my first thought. Holy shit, was my second thought. How was I going to explain to her that most of her prized possessions had been packed up and some had been discarded. OK, a lot had been discarded. And, her house was for sale.

As I started to say something, she said, "I didn't need all that stuff anyway. But I am happy to be home." Just then the front door opened. 

That was when I sat straight up in bed.  As Charles Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol, when Ebenezer Scrooge did not want to believe what he saw "..You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. . ."

Hopefully that was Christmas Past not Christmas Future!


Barbara said...

Wow! That was quite a dream...or maybe an actual message of love and encouragement from your mother...

Linda Medrano said...

Something very similar happened to me after my father's death. He was a policeman in San Francisco when he died. His wife decided to bury him in a suit rather than his uniform. For whatever reason, that bothered me. A couple of nights after his funeral, my dad came into my apartment and talked to me. It seemed very real. I told him that I was a little upset he had not been buried in his uniform and he laughed. "No, Honey. She did the right thing. I was pretty sour on the Department after all those years." Was it a dream? I honestly don't know.