The Dream

I woke up early, before light, to the loud crack of gunshots. Hunting season. I fell back asleep into an unusual dream from which I woke feeling warm, connected. In the dream my deceased ( since 2000 ) father-in-law got really tired, tired enough he wanted to lay down on the living room floor. I guess I was at his house. He teetered about, looking exhausted, and finally fell down on the rug, face first. I was afraid he had passed out, and went to look for help. As is the habit in dreams, time moves like molasses, and I felt like I was going through a maze just to get to the kitchen to let my husband and mother-in-law, who is 88 now, know what had happened. I found my mother-in-law, and she seemed unconcerned, and proceeded to show me two long silk skirts, the colour of polished steel, very pretty in style, with matching knit short sleeved tops.She was excited for us to try them on. Now, mind you, our relationship has never been close or fuzzy-friendly, even after my being married to her oldest son for 27 years. But she was genuinely willing, and so I went along and tried on the new outfit. Next thing I knew, the dream took us to a different time, and we were both little girls, giggling in the snow, looking into Christmas shops for candy and gifts. Like we were the best of friends. Then, as my anxiety for my father-in-law's well-being grew, I heard him lumber slowly into the kitchen, telling us , out of breath, he was all right. He looked sad, very much alone, but somehow was able to tell me that love and effort for family are worth it, even it it kills you. A gregarious but socially frustrated man in his 55 year marriage to my mother-in-law, he was a life long alcoholic and heavy smoker who died of complications of emphysema at 79. I was deeply surprised and touched by his effort to communicate his feelings, considering the grave discomfort he was in during the course of the dream. My father-in-law was part Native American, Blackfoot heritage, and maybe his spirit sensed my distress at times at the effort required from me since my immediate family fell apart, and what it means to me to keep our small family with my husband and son strong and together. I have seen Bald Eagles circle three times, in groups of three each time, above my house at the end of very stressful times, to find the crisis, sometimes lasting several years , has been beautifully resolved, with a peaceful and definite solution. Spending time in solitude has its rewards. I got up, smiling at the sight of my sleeping husband next to me, at the sight of our dog, Yara, sleeping on her cozy bed next to ours, and at the sound of my son's contented snoring, as I walked past his bedroom to the kitchen, and saw our cat Tigger curled up like a little fuzzball on the living room futon. I was home, and like my father-in-law's spirit reminded me, that was all that mattered. A Flemish born woman with a husband of California with an English,German and Native American heritage, and son with all that heritage plus my Flemish, French and Spanish blood, living here in Washington State, a member of a black baptist church, a Tae Kwon Do black belt, with a Vietnamese hair dresser and a North African song in my heart, as a tune by Rachid Taha and Idir both hummed through my head, I was home. I am home.