I have a reoccurring dream….. I’m at my Grandmother’s old house.
And…. well, I am always cleaning…. ahem, really?? cleaning?? I don’t really clean my own house!!
So anyway, back to the dream…. I’m at my Grandmother’s house, cleaning and my cell phone rings.
It’s Grandma. My heart skips a beat when I recall her voice. It was crystal clear and it was Grandma.
I explained that I was dusting. (That was my job as a kid…. dusting….. with pledge and one of my grandfather’s old undershirts.)
She said she understood and thanked me for dusting. She went on to explain that she had been spending a lot of time with the Lord. “Talking to the Lord about the Bible.” were her exact words.
Funny, I don’t ever recall Grandma reading her Bible. Grandpa, yes. Grandma, no.
I told her that was really cool as I walked down the hall into my mother’s old bedroom. Exactly as I remember down to the photo under the nightstand of my parents’ wedding day. But, there was something else…..
Crayons, coloring books and pencils…… scattered all over the floor.
“Grandma, what happened in Mom’s room? Why are all these colors and things on the floor?”
“Oh, honey, I was playing with the baby.”
“Well, that’s sweet. But Grandma, my son isn’t a baby anymore. He’s 11.”
“I know that, dear. No, I was playing with your baby.”
My eyes shot open and my heart sank deep into the pit of my stomach. I laid there in the dark…. quiet…. still….. only the whirl of the fan and Mark’s heavy breathing reminding me it was only a dream.
Could it be? Could the baby be the one I lost? Tears flowed as I replayed the dream in my head. I didn’t want to lose it. I wanted to remember each moment.