H.E.R.
So I had the strangest, most vivid dream ever a few nights back. I know I'll never forget this one. It hit me in ways I didn't think were possible, and it hit hard.
It was short. Maybe a couple of minutes in length, though time is so distorted in dreams so I know it could have been minutes or hours.
I was sitting in finely furnished living room. One I've never been in. I could tell by the decor and furniture that the house belonged to an older couple or possibly even an old lady. There were a few people in front of me. I didn't know them but one of them was my mom. We were smiling. Something great had recently happened. Apparently in this dream, my mother wasn't actually my biological mother. Such a thing wouldn't surprise me too much. I've never been close to blood relatives. Interaction with my parents is much different than many others have with theirs.
Being as she wasn't my biological mother, she felt compelled to tell me all these years later. Judging by the fact that we were together and laughing, the news wasn't a negative in my eyes.
Another funny thing about this dream was that it had memories. Not like memories that exist currently in my head, but this dream tapped into an alternate universe where this other me had another mother. My mind transferred his memories into my head and played them out in the dream. Honestly, it was like having three different operating consciouses at one time. There was me, aware that I was dreaming, my other version from the dream, and my unconscious connecting us together.
Anyhow, the events of the dream were simple. I discovered the truth about the woman who I'd called mother all my life. Subsequently, she took it upon herself to locate this other woman. The reason we were in this house is because the people who assisted in the search owned this house. I had come here because they had results from the search.
They had found my mother. She had chosen not to meet me. Instead, she had written me a letter...
They handed it to me and I read it.
I remember the entirety of the letter, but I won't write any of it out for fear of being mocked, parodied, or ridiculed. This is what I'll say.
She said she had not felt more happiness in her life since giving birth than on the day she found out I was still out there.
She said she had tried to remember me when she could, but life was hard and it got in the way. (She never specified what she had gone through, but in this dream, everything played out like a movie. In my (dream version's) mind I could see the horrible history she had experienced. Her story was sad, and too long.
She was alone. Always had been.
The sadness touched me, from this dream, mind you, and for several moments, a fourth consciousness entered my mind. I felt the pains and sorrows she had endured. Physically. The feeling of hundreds of hearts breaking. So many tears that to combine them together and expel them at once would force me to scream. I FELT the muscles in my face swell with pain, just the way it happens when a person cries hard for hours. My stomach ached and my fists burned from all the invisible walls, tables, steps, and dashboards they had slammed and punched over the years... but not mine. HERS.
I saw deaths. Children, parents, friends and lovers alike. I saw betrayals. I saw love and life cut short. I saw for a brief second the true hurt of huddling with a cat on a rainy afternoon in a living room empty save for the one beaten down recliner I sat on.... and I knew that on that day she had known true loneliness...
I saw so much and my eyes swelled with tears as I read her words.
The whole time, she never gave up. Not through pain, poverty, loss, or deceit. She knew that one day she would receive her just happiness.
The letter read that I had given that to her when she heard I was alive. She said good things about be. Things I won't repeat for the simple sake that this is her story and not mine. She said she was proud. She said she felt like she had finally served SOMETHING and that not all was in vain.
She also said she was on her deathbed.
The doctors had told her days before she found out about me that she wasn't going to last more than a week.
She died the day after sending me the letter.
The last part of the letter said that she had taken a whole day writing it. She fought of the intense pain in her muscles and held back her tears of pain only because the tears of joy kept them away. She said that she would do so again a million times if she needed to, all so she could express that happiness she had finally earned.
She said she loved me.
After the letter was finished, I held it with my left hand and held my face in my right as I cried.
I woke up after that. Actually crying. Actually hurting from her loss.
I missed her, but after a few seconds, I knew it wasn't real. Her memories live with me, however. I won't forget them. I couldn't if I wanted to. She is a person in my mind. And she's out there somewhere. I miss her still, and I love her, but not like a mother. I love her as I love a memory. A glimpse of something that was...
even though it wasn't.
It was short. Maybe a couple of minutes in length, though time is so distorted in dreams so I know it could have been minutes or hours.
I was sitting in finely furnished living room. One I've never been in. I could tell by the decor and furniture that the house belonged to an older couple or possibly even an old lady. There were a few people in front of me. I didn't know them but one of them was my mom. We were smiling. Something great had recently happened. Apparently in this dream, my mother wasn't actually my biological mother. Such a thing wouldn't surprise me too much. I've never been close to blood relatives. Interaction with my parents is much different than many others have with theirs.
Being as she wasn't my biological mother, she felt compelled to tell me all these years later. Judging by the fact that we were together and laughing, the news wasn't a negative in my eyes.
Another funny thing about this dream was that it had memories. Not like memories that exist currently in my head, but this dream tapped into an alternate universe where this other me had another mother. My mind transferred his memories into my head and played them out in the dream. Honestly, it was like having three different operating consciouses at one time. There was me, aware that I was dreaming, my other version from the dream, and my unconscious connecting us together.
Anyhow, the events of the dream were simple. I discovered the truth about the woman who I'd called mother all my life. Subsequently, she took it upon herself to locate this other woman. The reason we were in this house is because the people who assisted in the search owned this house. I had come here because they had results from the search.
They had found my mother. She had chosen not to meet me. Instead, she had written me a letter...
They handed it to me and I read it.
I remember the entirety of the letter, but I won't write any of it out for fear of being mocked, parodied, or ridiculed. This is what I'll say.
She said she had not felt more happiness in her life since giving birth than on the day she found out I was still out there.
She said she had tried to remember me when she could, but life was hard and it got in the way. (She never specified what she had gone through, but in this dream, everything played out like a movie. In my (dream version's) mind I could see the horrible history she had experienced. Her story was sad, and too long.
She was alone. Always had been.
The sadness touched me, from this dream, mind you, and for several moments, a fourth consciousness entered my mind. I felt the pains and sorrows she had endured. Physically. The feeling of hundreds of hearts breaking. So many tears that to combine them together and expel them at once would force me to scream. I FELT the muscles in my face swell with pain, just the way it happens when a person cries hard for hours. My stomach ached and my fists burned from all the invisible walls, tables, steps, and dashboards they had slammed and punched over the years... but not mine. HERS.
I saw deaths. Children, parents, friends and lovers alike. I saw betrayals. I saw love and life cut short. I saw for a brief second the true hurt of huddling with a cat on a rainy afternoon in a living room empty save for the one beaten down recliner I sat on.... and I knew that on that day she had known true loneliness...
I saw so much and my eyes swelled with tears as I read her words.
The whole time, she never gave up. Not through pain, poverty, loss, or deceit. She knew that one day she would receive her just happiness.
The letter read that I had given that to her when she heard I was alive. She said good things about be. Things I won't repeat for the simple sake that this is her story and not mine. She said she was proud. She said she felt like she had finally served SOMETHING and that not all was in vain.
She also said she was on her deathbed.
The doctors had told her days before she found out about me that she wasn't going to last more than a week.
She died the day after sending me the letter.
The last part of the letter said that she had taken a whole day writing it. She fought of the intense pain in her muscles and held back her tears of pain only because the tears of joy kept them away. She said that she would do so again a million times if she needed to, all so she could express that happiness she had finally earned.
She said she loved me.
After the letter was finished, I held it with my left hand and held my face in my right as I cried.
I woke up after that. Actually crying. Actually hurting from her loss.
I missed her, but after a few seconds, I knew it wasn't real. Her memories live with me, however. I won't forget them. I couldn't if I wanted to. She is a person in my mind. And she's out there somewhere. I miss her still, and I love her, but not like a mother. I love her as I love a memory. A glimpse of something that was...
even though it wasn't.