Well, I shouldn’t say last night. It was sometime between 6am (when my body finally surrendered to sleep) and 7am (when my alarm started blaring). It was a spectacular dream. The kind you wake up from but then desperately wish you could close your eyes and be right back in.
Except this time, I’d forgotten I’d had the dream until I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, washing my face. All of the sudden, I saw an image of her in the dream. This was in my mind’s eye, and I instantly burst into tears.
She had been sitting in a sort of rocking chair, the way she always used to. That was her favorite sort of chair — maybe it’s a grandma thing?
And I was lying on the floor, watching tv with her, the way we always used to. Only, this time, we were in my house, which she’s never been to, because I moved here after she passed away. I wasn’t paying attention to her at first, honestly. Often in dreams you’re not really paying attention to the people around you. And I remember laying on the floor, watching tv, with my arms propped up the way I do, below my chin, and I just felt a sincere soul-to-soul connection with someone else in the room. And I felt the warmth, comfort and safety that you feel when you’re near a parent or authority figure. I look up, and I see her beautiful face, looking back at me, my grandmother Linda Allene Watson Norman.
She just looked back at me and smiled.
She was perfectly healthy. She had two breasts, perched in those pointy Walmart bras she used to wear. No disfigured shoulders or back. No cancer in her blood and bones and lymph nodes. She looked so full of life, the way I remember her when she left me in my college dorm room my freshmen year. That’s the Linda I want to remember.
Once I’d come to terms that she was there, watching over me, in her typical Linda way, I remember saying to myself — Yo Marrissa, your grandmother is dead. You should really cherish this time with her. So I looked back at her for a few more moments and let it settle in. And she just smiled at me again.
That was the end of that, but the beginning of a million questions from me.