Monday, June 10, 2013

Trifecta Challenge: Light

You'll have to forgive me, I'm in a very somber nostalgic mood this morning. I'm Contemplating life and death and all that for reasons I won't get into.  That's probably why the latest Trifecta challenge triggered the following story. This week's trifecta challenge:

LIGHT (noun)

1a : something that makes vision possible
  b : the sensation aroused by stimulation of the visual receptors
  c : electromagnetic radiation of any wavelength that travels in a vacuum with a speed of about 186,281 miles (300,000 kilometers) per second; specifically : such radiation that is visible to the human eye
2a : daylight
  b : dawn
3: a source of light: as
   a : a celestial body
   b : candle   
I can remember it clearly even if it was a dream. But sometimes dreams aren’t just dreams.

I was in my grandparents’ house. Grandma was having one of her episodes again. There was something about her ranting that would throw me into a seething rage. I know now that it wasn’t her fault, not really. She’d lost her partner in life and had just given up and decided to join him. Her mind and her body were in race to see who could get there first. But even in my dream I was mad at her for what she was becoming. I’m still not sure why. Blame it on my youth, on my hormones, on my own selfishness, I don’t know. 

The kitchen’s a mess and she’s pacing on the linoleum looking at me and crying in turns and I’m getting angrier.

Then I spot it in the hallway, just in the periphery of my vision. It was a small point of light, and then it burst open. At first I just saw the beams shooting off in thousands of directions like the sun streaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm.

Then it dissipated and he was there. I looked at him, tears in my eyes and immediately I feel the thoughts whirring, the millions of things I wanted to tell him before he passed that I never got a chance to. The pervading thought I kept coming back to is ‘I love you and I’m sorry.’ But I can’t even get that out.

But what I could or could not say didn’t seem to matter to him at all. He just walked toward me, hugged me the way he use to and whispered into my ear. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said as he squeezed me tighter.

Then I woke up. I don’t know if it was my grandfather, or something my subconscious made up to give me closure. All I know is sometimes, dreams aren’t just dreams.


The above story is 330 words.



Trifecta said...

If only we could all have the kind of closure with our loved ones. Lovely.

Dobson said...

If only closure could always flow so easily and completely.

Valerie said...

If ever I had to be visited by a ghost, this is how I'd want it to be! I really like this!

Ann Bennett said...

When you lose someone dear to you, sometimes dreams seem like more for sure.

Jo-Anne Teal said...

The most comforting dreams are the rare ones when you get to hug someone who you loved and don't see anymore. Definitely brings light into our lives. :))

vivinfrance said...

An excellent take on the prompt - a complete story is hard to make as meaningful as this one in so few words.

tedstrutz said...

Sometimes dreams aren't just dreams... good story. I was caught up in it. I liked this line... 'Her mind and her body were in race to see who could get there first.'

Jennifer said...

Sometimes dreams really aren't just dreams. I love it.

Draug said...

This is such a lovely story.

Allison said...

Sometimes, no, dreams aren't just dreams. Personal example, I for one know for a fact I was visited by a friend shortly after her death in a dream - come to think of it (and this is seriously a realization I JUST HAD) - we were sitting on a stone bench together talking - and both in front of her grave and as my mom's headstone - there's a stone bench! Kinda freaky! But cool.

And as for whatever prompted this - my condolences. Yesterday would have been my mom's 68th birthday (it's also my now 17 year old daughter's).

The Bloody Munchkin said...

Thanks Allison.

Believe it or not, this was based on a dream I had when I was 17, shortly after my fraternal grandfather passed and I do believe he was letting me say goodbye

Anonymous said...