Carrying My Grandmother

There was a time in my life when I dreamt a lot. I would awaken with the dream fresh in my head. Methodically, I would write it down in one of my journals. From time to time I dip into the pages of earlier journals to catch glimpses of my past life. However, I rarely think they are as interesting as I did as when I wrote them. But there are a few gems, such as the year 1990, when I gave birth to Gregory.

Tuesday morning, January 25th at 4:00am I awoke to the memory of a dream–so real I was living it–about my paternal Grandmother. She was very much alive, though she had died April 14, 1967. But this dream was not about death. She appeared around a large wooden table with our extended family where we were eating. It was a joyous feast of family and love.

My grandmother was tall, straight and thin. She loved to walk and she was very independent. In the dream she was shorter and smaller, but the same age as she was when I last saw her. But I was the age I am now. After the communal feast I picked her up, as she was light. And I carried her to her hotel.

Several of my cousins on my mother’s side helped carry her bags. What to make of this feast? I think the dream is about me and not about my grandmother, although there are reasons why she is in it. Though I am not in my eighties, I am closer to her in age now than as a young person. Though we all are growing older we are still full of life.

There is the wonderful image of my mother’s sister’s children who are my age carrying her things–which are really my bags. I think it means that it is time to throw off all that encumbers us and begin again.

Photo: Ocean Grove, NJ. Taken by Ellen Paull.