I woke up this morning from a really odd dream about a lady I used to work with in the school holidays alongside my Mum.
Her name was Ivy and she was a pensioner then, so quite a bit older than Mum who was the Manageress at the time. I was about 12 or 13, so Mum would have been in her late 40s.
I had never been to this lady’s house, but in my dream the trip to it took me down familiar streets with the traffic flow running the opposite way to how I remembered.
Her house was next door to a small block of flats, a gold tone number 6 perfectly aligned on her white double glazed door.
I rang the bell and she opened it. A tall willowy lady, perfectly groomed, exactly as I remembered her from all those years ago, she invited me in.
She knew who I was and knew Mum had passed away.
I held her tight and we cried together.
What struck me were the flowers.
Her carpet was a design of large pompom type blooms that stretched up onto the walls (no skirting boards), her curtains and ceilings. They were blue and pink, yellow, purple and orange, and it was like being consumed by a floral display.
Then I woke up.
Always one to try and analyse my dreams, obviously Mum is very much in my thoughts, and one of the things I’d noticed at the funeral and from the sympathy cards my sister had received was that Mum had outlived all of her friends.
Ivy was in her 60s fifty years ago, so why would I dream of this lady, who was not actually a personal friend to Mum but a working colleague?
And were the flowers to suggest the Garden of Remembrance where ashes are usually scattered?
About a month or so after my Dad died, he came to me in my dreams, young and whole, pain and stress free. He visited several times over the years, never to speak, and once when I reached out to take his hand, he backed away with a smile as if to say ‘Not yet.’
I am hoping Mum will come to me too when the time is right. Maybe they intend to come together. I wake up each morning and see her in my mind’s eye, each time younger than before. Perhaps there are a few more years to backtrack first.