She’s neither ethereal nor ghost-like when she appears in my dreams.
In my dreams she’s very real. So real, in fact, that most times I don’t even realize she shouldn’t be there until I’m on the edge of consciousness. I often wake like Ebenezer Scrooge, wondering if what I’ve experienced was a dream or reality, but I am nonetheless changed.
The lady in my dreams sometimes admonishes me and sometimes showers me in love. Sometimes she’s the main character and sometimes she’s a piece of the backdrop. Sometimes she talks with me and other times she talks to others around me about me. In some dreams, I am her little child again and she teaches me how to get along with my sister. Other times she is sitting in her blue recliner in the living room, watching TV late into the night until my father gets home, constantly trying to fend off sleep until he does. I can smell her perfume, see the lines on her face, hear her laugh.
I am not haunted by her but yet…
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