When waking from the dream, she was at peace. Wanting to linger a while longer, she curled up in the warmth of her quilt.
Suddenly, the world crashed in on her. Her dream was not reality but only made of her desires.
They were all together again. She was bathed in the light of home — her home of yesteryear.
A home that was long past. A home where she was with her children; her family was all together again. The remnant remains; so does the longing.
She cannot visit this home. It is beyond her reach, destroyed by circumstances and time.
She will always have a mother’s heart, tied to her children with an invisible golden chord never to be severed.
Often as the morning dawns, for a split second, she has the sense that her family is with her only to realize she is alone.
No one would ever guess the devastation that lives within her. She has learned to walk beside her grief.
Only in her dreams does she catch the warmth of those long-ago memories as if she were there once again. She cherishes each of those glimpses and snuggles more deeply into her quilt.
