Sunday, August 23, 2009 by Jen Lemen 
The first time we met she had welcomed me like a long lost daughter, the child she never knew. I went to her arms as if I had always belonged there and then sat back to hear the stories--how she had been dreaming of me for thirty years, how she had been waiting, how relieved she was I brought the lights.
This visit she confesses the dream was not an easy one, that she had seen a white woman coming into her house with torches, how she feared that the house would go up in flames, how it disturbed her so much she told her two closest sons and her daughter, my good friend, years before we met. She tells me, only now, that all her dreams had come true, only none of it happened the way she imagined.
The house would be a new one. The light would be her eyes shining at the thought that she had ever been afraid. The fire would be the love that ignited when we all gathered in the same place, equally enchanted by the other. The torches would be a bagful of headlamps that made her laugh and laugh to see the light shining from her head as she made her way across the room.
I ask her what she's dreaming now as she holds my hand, the one with the gold ring she gave me, the ring that is turning my finger green and making me happy. Everything will happen in its own time, she tells me, not willing to give away any more secrets.
Besides. What could we dream that could be any better than this--to be together, body, mind and spirit? What could we imagine that could give us any more comfort? What could possibly give us any more hope?
Reader Comments (8)
thank you for telling this story...
yes.
thank you.