Yes, it’s that time of the year again. I know that for plenty of people out there St.Patrick’s Day is about drinking. Only, it means much more to me. While, I never got to get the 4-1-1 from mom about all the special little tidbits of her culture or what ot means to be Irish, (and Scottish for that matter) …I remember small fragments of a mothers story.
Pieces of symbolism as with any culture. Some I remember fondly, others I just don’t understand from lack of knowledge, but it always brings me back to feeling slightly displaced on this very day EVERY year.
It’s only a few days away now. The hardest anniversary of them all. The day EVERYTHING changed.
I still remember the dream as vivid as if it were yesterday. I sat in a living room and all I could think of was how thirsty I was. I got up and headed to the kitchen, and in a strange twist of fate… My Grandmother stood in front of me wearing her beautiful floral dress, and a peaceful smile on her face. I rushed to hug her but she vanished. An empty feeling rushing through me gave me a grim feeling. As I turned around, I saw her again glistening in the moonlight, that peered in from the kitchen window. I shouted for her with excitement and yet again attempted to hug her. Only, she avoided me again by swooshing towards the refridgerator. She held a stern gaze on her face as she voiced,”This is the last time.”I reached for her hand while asking,”What do you mean?” But she vanished for good. Merely slipping away forever.
I regained my original emotions and started towards the living room of a house I had no familiarity with. Everyone who had originally been in the house had fled. I walked outside in search of everyone, yet no one could be found. Just then I noticed a torn handkerchief on a barbed wire fence similar to the one at home. Utter terror filled my heart, and I spun around quickly and saw a plantation burning to the ground. In flight mode, I readied myself to rush in and save someone. Who … I didn’t know quite yet… what I did know was… they were of value.
Beads of sweat rolled down my forhead with my heart pounding fierce. I awoke abruptly and said, “That was real.” Something in my gut told me, that mom needed to hear about it so I hopped out of bed, and dressed quickly. On the way to mom and dad’s, I kept a deep thought process about how to approach it with mom. This specific year the family mutually decided not to have, do , or celebrate anything special for the holidays because my oldest brother would be moving out of state just in time for the holidays. I proceeded to tell mom the details of my dream, I believed in my heart of hearts that when I finished explaning she would say, “Your silly.” Or “Crazy.” Or something discouraging such a silly dream, but instead…she sat quiet and thoughtful. “THAT’S all?” I asked her. “You don’t have anything to say about my weird dream?” It was then that she sighed and said,”I think maybe we should have a holiday gathering after all. It seems this one will be our last together.” That statement hit our walls with a vicious sting. Dad dropped the can of coffee grinds on the floor and froze. Merely staring at her. I then and only then felt a grave darkness approaching. “What do you mean our last?” I asked in a frenzie, but she kept her gaze to the floor saying nothing more about it from then on.
To be continued…..
Today, will always serve as a reminder that life of so precious, and if your not curious enough to care about another’s story, you will never know the joy, of having the pleasure.
Happy St. PATRICK’S DAY guys. Love those who love you and leave out all the rest #StuffRareSays
See ya on the next one 😎👌