A Rare Visitor

My mother Leslie & me, 1974

Me, 9 July 2015

The dream:

I stood on the cliff's edge, my mother's soft, elegant hand in mine and opened up new wings. The feel of the wind through my feathers tickled me like soft little kisses. I looked at her exquisite face (...which looked very much like she does in the picture above).

"How far can I go?" I asked, eager to give them a try.
"How far do you wish to go?" she softly replied.
"To the end," I stated adamantly.
"There is no end, my darling. Only 'more' that goes on for an eternity," she said.
"I won't have time to see it all," I said petulantly, the way a child would when told they couldn't do everything and had to settle for just one or two things to do.
She leaned close and kissed my cheek. "You will," she whispered. "Go," she prompted.
"Aren't you coming?" I wanted to know.
"This is your journey, baby. Not mine. I will be right here when you need me. Just close your eyes and call me to you. I will come. Always," she assured me.
"Promise?" I asked, torn between staying with her or experiencing 'more'.
"Pinky swear," she said and hooked her pinky with mine.

When I looked at our joined fingers, so very much alike, I knew she was coming with me just not the way I expected. Her spirit, my spirit, forever joined wherever we were.

I woke with the scent of wild sea spray and her perfume still in my nose and the warm feel of her light on me.

Thanks for coming, Mama.
Miss you.