They Come To You In Your Dreams...

There's an African Proverb that states, "Sleep is the Cousin of Death." Now whether that is true or not is debatable, but I've always found that in my dreams life is the most interesting.

I can fly.  I am in most cases happy.  I am a Superhero some evenings or doing amazing things that just don't seem to work while awake.  But more than anything I visit with my family that have passed on and I have to admit that is the most amazing and comforting of all the things that I can do in my dreams.

Last night I was an adult running behind my Grandmother from store to store the way I used to do when I was a kid.  I always give credit to her and my Father for the reason why I walk so fast and have no problem walking.  She used to walk all over West & North Oakland, from shop to shop, funeral to funeral (different story) and my child legs would almost have to run to keep up.  My father was a tall man with long legs so one step for him was almost a complete 3 for me with my youthful legs.  So I'm a fast walker...

Last night I was an adult though, following my beautiful Grandmother from store to store, in between clothes as she picked up this outfit or that outfit.  Some she put up against me to see how it would look, checking out the quality, the cut and stitches used to see if it was something that would fall apart after two washings - or better yet if she could just purchase the fabric and make it herself.

We didn't talk at all, but I followed her around; every now and again she'd turn back to make sure I was behind her and I was.  If I was too far behind she'd give me that stern look that meant if I didn't keep up either a pinch or worse the switch would be a factor when we got home.  Or there would periodically be that look while we waited for a bus that she would lick her finger and then smooth down my eyebrows and give me that Grandmother kiss that would make all in the world great.

Yet last night - I was an adult.  The crappy thing about them coming to you in your dreams at least in my dreams is that I can't speak or at least to her, when my Mother visits we talk all the time.  I don't remember a conversation between me and my Grandmother, just looks of love and the comfort of being in each others presence again.

The alarm lost its mind at 6am on the dot and our time was cut short.  Yet I woke feeling the way I did as a young girl, protected and loved.  Well rested and prepared for whatever today brings.  Yeah, I dig those dreams.