this morning's dream

I had the most vivid dream about her this morning.

We were standing on the sand...
I want to think it was Lake Geneva; 
but in reality, it looked more like the ocean...
even though we had never been to the ocean together.

I was hugging her from behind,
my arms wrapping around her shoulders,
across her collarbone.

Even now, hours later, I can remember how her shoulders
And I can distinctly recall exactly how she
She smelled like she always had.
She smelled like Mom.

In my dream, I buried my face in the crook of her neck...
and I cried, "I don't think I can do this."
As dreams often go, I don't know what conversation or events led up to my saying that to her, but in the dream it was just understood that I was referring to her passing.

We stood there on the beach,
my arms wrapped around her shoulders,
and I sobbed into her neck.

And I remember,
she tilted her head so that it was touching mine,
and she said, "Can you just trust me?"

And again, in typical dream-fashion,
I just understood that she was referring to a conversation we had actually real life...
a conversation when we talked about her going Home...
a conversation when I really did cry...
and when she told me it would be okay...
and that she was at peace about the whole thing.

And then,
just as suddenly,
I woke up.
And my cheeks were wet with tears,
tears shed during our conversation.

Yet somehow, I treasure that dream.
I love it when I dream about her.
Because in my dreams, I can see her.
I can feel her.
I can smell her.
I can hear her. 
It's like, for those moments, however brief and fleeting,
she's still with me.

And I know she's in a better place,
and I know she's no longer suffering,
and I know she wouldn't come back even if she could...

But every so often,
more often than I care to admit,
that's all I want.
I want her still with me.

So, I'll fold up the memory of this morning's dream
and tuck it in my heart, and carry it around with me until I've worn the ink from its pages,
 and it fades beyond recollection.

And then I'll wait...
longing and anticipating and hoping...
for the next time she appears in my dream.


  1. Oh, Erin. Wrapping you up in a big hug this morning. So thankful you can be with her in your dreams.

  2. what a gift He gave you this morning.
    i'm so sorry for the ache in your heart, Erin.
    praying He covers you in His love and grace today.


  3. Sniffing and sniffing over here. Your experience just confirms to me what I always ponder...the way we are so vulnerable and still and not distracted in our sleep makes it such an easy and powerful place for God to work. Praising Him for giving this to you and ministering to your heart of hearts. Hugs.

  4. My goodness, what a special gift you've been given today!

  5. beautifully written, as i type with tears in my eyes. while i'm sure you'll never stop missing your mom, the sense that she's at peace and wants you to trust her, must bring you such comfort. i lost my dear dad a year ago on the thirteenth of january. miss him every moment and would love to hug him one more time, even if only in my dreams.



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