This morning, I had a dream that was unlike any other dream I’ve had before.
I was in my flat, alone, but I knew I was expecting company. I was trying to figure out what to cook. The kitchen was immaculately clean. Even my air fryer was in new condition. (Trust me, it isn’t that way in real life.)
There was a knock on my door, and I opened it to see… my uncle Tom, his dog Foxy, my grandfather and grandmother, and my cousin Stephanie. I asked where Meaghan, my other cousin, was, and Tom replied “She’s down there with her family, of course”.
Now, Oklahoma City is about an hour and a half southwest of me, so “down there” could be directional. It’s just also weird, because that sure is a lot of relatives of mine that are gone. Stephanie is still alive (she’s younger than me), but…
I went back to the kitchen and there was a full, Thanksgiving-esque meal sitting on the counter, exquisitely prepared with all of my favourites: turkey with stuffing, cinnamon sweet buns, green beans, Dutch apple pie, broccoli with parmesan, Hawaiian biscuits…
I set the table and we all just looked at each other smiling. I said something about how the last time all of us were together was at my performance of Somewhere Only We Know, which is factually accurate – that performance was the last time we were all together. Everyone then started sharing little memories of that day and laughing and carrying on.
Then I woke up.
I’m crying at my keyboard now remembering the feeling of hugging both my grandfather and uncle, with Foxy’s tail wagging against my leg, when they first came in. I’d do almost anything to feel that again in real life.
No idea where that dream came from, either. I haven’t really been thinking of any of them recently; I’ve been far too busy with work and preparing for my next project and everything. Perhaps it was because of what I’m writing in Arc 88. There is a scene involving Diana the guardian angel dog, but still, I hadn’t even been writing that part of it the night before.
One thing’s for sure. They’ll always be in my heart.