Right before I woke up this morning—I mean, like, it was the very last thing I did before I put my feet on the floor for the day—I dreamed of my great aunt Ann. She was my paternal grandfather’s younger sister, and my uncle Ed‘s first wife.
I’m not sure why. She’s been gone for more than 25 years. I can’t recall thinking of her particularly recently, though when I figured out my favorite teacher/current Facebook friend Jan was old Limestone County, I asked her if she had known her, and she said yes, of course; everybody knew Ann. That’s been a year or so ago, I think.
I enjoyed Ann’s intellect, and she was the biggest jigsaw puzzle fiend I’ve ever known. But mostly I remember her as a loving Southern lady. You just felt warm when you were with her. There was an easy, tender grace about her that I’ve only very rarely seen in anyone else. My mother adored her. Everyone did.
So in my dream, I was at some sort of outdoor exposition or festival, with different booths and displays. She was wearing blue and standing under a small wrought iron canopy, greeting different people as they came by. When I saw who it was, I ran to her and just collapsed into her arms. Sobbing nearly uncontrollably, I told her how much I had missed her and how happy I was to see her again. She smiled her big smile, hugged me back, and told me she was happy to see me too. Then I woke up.
It was so out of nowhere, but no less vivid for that. I certainly am sad for her today.