The Blood & The Bones

I had this dream last night.
It is still with me.
I dreamt a child I had known died.
I passed it to my mother.
My mother who died four years ago.

She held it.
She held in a way I would not have seen before.
Close, careful, patient.
She held it for a moment and said “this child is not gone.”
As she handed her back to me, I wrapped my arms around her frail body and pressed her to my chest.
When I had the courage to look again, she was slowly coming back to us.
Her blameless eyes on mine.

All day I’ve tried to understand the meaning.
It was so real.
I can still feel the loss of her.
Still feel her awakening.
I can see the color in her cheeks.
I can feel her soft blonde hair.

Have you ever heard that quote that says to be the person you needed when you were younger?

I know my mother did what she could
but she was just a child too.
A child who came from a place of little love.
What else could she do but fumble through motherhood?
I think she was her
and I was her
and we were one and separate in that moment.
Mother and child, child and mother.
Both doing the best we can.
Both trying to survive.
She is gone beyond a place we can reach and nothing can be done to show her that she deserved better..
Or that I did too..
Except maybe to believe in signs.
And to know that the child and its rebirth are now in my capable hands alone.

the blood
& the bones