Most mornings when I wake up, I have no clue as to what I dreamed about. And even when I do remember, it's usually just bits and pieces. But very, very rarely I will have complete recall. Within the last couple of weeks I've had several dreams that I could remember perfectly. I won't tell you about them because honestly they don't make any sense and they were just weird, though also quite funny. Anyway, the one thing that stood out to me was that I was at home in every one of them. Not home as in our house in Albuquerque, but our old house out in Edgewood.
And another thing about my dreams when I remember them: they're rarely clear. Even if I'm somewhere familiar, things are invariably blurry. But these dreams were crystal clear. I could see everything in perfect detail exactly as I had preserved it in my mind. When I woke up crying, I realized that even though we've been living in our current house for almost a year, my heart and mind knew that home was our house in the mountains. So that dream was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that I was able to, in a way, go back to happier times, to see our house as it had always been, to feel for the first time in a year that I was home. It was also curse because I know it's gone forever and it brought back all the feelings of loss and pain that I had finally managed to bury. But even though it hurts, I try to focus on the blessing of it. I never got to really say goodbye to my home and I never got to say goodbye to my chickens. You can think that's pathetic if you want, but I raised them from chicks and I loved them, even if they were completely brainless. At least this way, I was able to say goodbye to it as my home and not just an empty shell. I got one last glimpse of it. I was able to go out and pet and talk to my chickens and tell them goodbye. And for that, I am thankful, even if it was just a dream.
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