Momma

I can’t remember the exact show, but I remember my sister telling me about a segment she’d heard on public radio about subjects people shouldn’t talk about – because no one really cares – and dreams was one of them.

I’m guessing it was a humor piece on This American Life, but I could be wrong.

While dreams may be an annoying or boring topic for some, I can’t stop thinking about the one I woke up from this morning.

I was sitting next to my Mom in a traditional New England meeting house.  We were in the balcony.  The place was packed, with what I’m assuming were towns people.  While the setting and the crowd looked…dated…my Mom and I were definitely modern.  She was wearing a headset, producing the whole thing.

Someone was on stage, talking.  Loudly.  Sharply.  But I couldn’t really see or hear what was happening. I was too wrapped up in my guilt.

I was snugged close to my Mom because I’d just said something – to someone – that I wasn’t suppose to.  And now, I was scared it would mean trouble for her.

I’m not being elusive with the details.  I don’t remember them.  I can’t track down what I did, or said, or how it went, just how I felt.  Scared and sorry.

I wanted to tell my Mom, whatever trouble I felt coming (that I had caused), but somehow – couldn’t.

Then, without me saying a word, she kissed me.  Said it was fine. Whatever it was, it was fine.  She would take care of it.

And I woke up thankful for Moms, and all of their expansive caring.

 

 

 

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