I rarely remember my dreams. Generally, when I do it's like "what the heck was that all about?" Know what I'm saying?

My grandmother died when I was in my early 20's. This was the woman that lived with us since the day I was born. She was my mother's mother. She was a hard worker. My grandfather died when my mom was six. Grandma had only attended school until she was in the 8th grade and at that time, she worked to help with the family expenses. Pretty normal stuff back then.

She worked in many different factories, and then later in life, she babysat and did other odd jobs. In other words, she did what it took to support my mother.

Until failing eyesight prevented her from doing so, Grandma was an avid quilter. And she did everything by hand. I have some of them, and to this day, I rarely get them out. I think I may need to change that. She played Canasta regularly. I remember when it would be her turn to host the games. Mom would make the snacks and such, oh, and the mixed foo-foo drinks. I remember coming home from school and all of the ladies would have made sure I had some snacks saved for me. Just for me. They were so good to me. They always asked how I was doing and really took an interest in what I had to say. For a young girl, that's an important thing. I always felt comfortable with them.

In later years, she had arthritis so bad. It was hard for me to watch her in such pain. It became more difficult to watch after she suffered a number of small strokes, which destroyed not only her short term memory, but her balance as well.

My mother took a leave of absence from her job (in essence, she retired early) to take care of her. By that time, I was older and would sometimes "grandma" sit, so that my parents could go out. My mother gave up alot of her life to take care of her own. In more ways than one. I didn't always show it back then, and perhaps I didn't realize the magnitude of the sacrifices my mother (and father) made, but I realize it now.

But I digress. I apologize. I was marching on memory lane there for a while and it felt so good I didn't want to stop.

Where was I? Oh, the dream.

Whenever I dreamt of my grandmother, I never saw her face. I can't tell you how frustrating that was for me. It took the birth of my first child to make me realize the magnitude of my loss. She was the first one I lost, that was close to me, and to this day the hardest. I wanted her to see my baby. To be there, and to hold her. I wanted to share everything with her because she was always there to listen. It's odd how things like that occur, isn't it?

I dreamt of a large, beautiful white rose last night. I can still remember the smell. I remember gnarled, curled hands, so beaten down from the effects of arthritis, holding it. I remember looking up from the rose that was held steadily in front of my face, with the gentle words "take it, hold it, smell it, feel the life."

The eyes I made contact with were my grandmothers. Full of love and support and strength. She was wearing a house dress, full of flowers and bright with color. When I close my eyes, I can still see it. I SAW her. I saw her face. I saw everything. I can still feel her hands wrapped around mine as I took the rose she was offering. And they were warm.

I took the rose. It was so beautiful. So full, even in its bud like state. She told me to peel the pedals off one by one, and smell them. The further I got down into the flower, the brighter the colors. The peace I felt the further down I drilled was amazing. I was calm.

She told me, "Keep peeling. Keep looking for the beautiful center of the rose. The more you peel, the stronger you will feel." I woke up some time soon after that. With a sense that it was going to be ok. Whatever will be will be. While the fear still surrounds me, I am able to control it. It does not rule me anymore.

To back up in time, I got a call from my doctor yesterday. He is referring me to, yet another, specialist. I firmly believe this is what brought this dream to fruition. It was my mind's (or perhaps my grandmother's) way of telling me that it was ok. It is ok to be afraid. Things will work out.

I go next Thursday (10/20). It's just an initial visit. But it's a start. And while I'm afraid, I know it's going to be ok.

After all, grandma said so. And I have a rose.

Comments

Posted by: Robin at October 12, 2005 09:22 PM

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