Little Slices

I recently read an article saying that Quantum Theory (I don’t even know if it should be capitalized but it sounds so official) proved we, as a departed spirit/energy/whatever, move to another plane/dimension/whatever when we cease to exist in the physical world. I know nothing of physics, Quantum Theory, or shit about shit for that matter. I do, however, know about death, and faith, and a belief that we don’t truly just go away when we die. I am not a religious person. I was raised a Roman Catholic, and my bedroom alone has about ten rosaries in it, but I, personally, am not practicing Catholic. Currently, I’m practicing sanity and stability – both of which I am quite fond. When I say belief, I mean I believe that our energies do not dissipate with our final breath. When I say faith, I mean I have faith that the dead can still, in some special way, keep in communication with us after they lose their hold on the physical world. And when I say death, I mean I experienced it to the point where I either needed to become comfortable with the idea and finality of it, or be forced to lose my own mental control.

My favorite part about my mom now is that, although she is dead – and has been for five and a half years – she still manages to visit me in my dreams. Some people believe that dreaming about the dead is just a manifestation of memories or ideal images of what we want, but I personally disagree. That isn’t to say that I am right and someone else is wrong or vice versa, merely I adapt the ideas of English literature which is that it’s all open to interpretation. My mom has visited me consistently during my sleep ever since two weeks after her death in 2011. It was a lucid dream, and it was so real I could smell her perfume and her cigarettes and we spoke of current events. I recall it to this day with such detail that sometimes I confuse it for her still being alive. There were dreams, though, over the years, that showed negative images of  my mom; she was angrily making cookies in a leather trench coat, and the vibe I got from her in these types of dreams were not necessarily her, rather a manifestation of her own demons and struggles. It was as if I was bearing witness to her own internal battles – a dream within a dream.

Recently, though, I dreamed I was in Florida. Why? No clue, however my mom was there, much younger, vibrant, tan, and content. She was wearing white strappy sandals, cut-off jean shorts, a white tank top, and her sunglasses were raked through her sandy blonde hair. We were outside a deli-style establishment where I was standing in the parking lot observing her on a bench outside the building eating a sandwich and a pickle. She was so absorbed and happy in her sandwich. She wasn’t waiting for anyone; simply swinging her feet and digging into her lunch and vibing to the people running in and out of this place as they blurred into the background of this dream. I watched her as if I was watching a movie. She ate and smiled to herself and was oblivious to me until she went in for a bite, looked up, and locked eyes with me. Her hands lowered the sandwich below her chin and she smiled at me so genuine and loving that, although she was not the mother I knew at the time of her death, she knew I was hers, and she acknowledged me and she knew exactly who I was. The same way I knew that it was Mom. We didn’t speak, and after I was caught by her eyes, I woke up.


Dreams like that put me in a funk for the rest of my day, and not because it makes me sad that I can’t just pick up the phone and call her; I’m kind of over that stage. For me, personally, my walking stupor is the result of me mulling over and over whether or not she’s happy, if it was really my mom, and when will I see her again? I always have to remind myself that I just need to believe I’ll see her again, and she’ll come in due time. My new theory, though, is that this most recent dream was a slice of my mom’s own personal heaven. It was as if I was watching her relive a happy, younger memory – before she had children, before alcohol took over her life, before she succumbed to her disease. That thought pulled me out of my funk; she visits me in my dreams, and I visit her in her heavens.


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