Last night I had a dream. My grandmother and I were walking along a beach. She was younger than when she died, but her eyes and face were the same. Her voice was so comforting I began to cry.
She grabbed me and held me fiercely. Tight, tight. And she let me let go. Every tear I have held back in the last week came flooding out. I cried until I had no breath.
She pulled back when I was finished and looked me in the eyes.
I asked her why. She told me she could give me either peace or understanding, but not both.
There was no question. Peace.
She smiled and told me my child felt no pain, and I would see him again.
When I woke up, it was early morning. My pillow was still wet. I got up and looked out the back window to see a small dove sitting in front of the statue in the backyard. I stood and watched until Lily began to call for me, and he never moved.
When I came back a while later, he was gone.
Sadness still lingers. But I accept the peace I have been given. I will see my child again.
So fly little dove. Fly high and far. I love you.
