bad dream

February 27, 1991 seems like a very long time ago most days. They say time heals all wounds. Generally speaking, I would have to agree with that, and I guess I am an example of that as I have been able to move on with my life, I have made my peace with the event that changed my life and I have forgiven myself for the opportunities that were missed that may have made that day more bearable in the years that came after.
But every now and then that day makes an appearance. Normally when I dream of her, she is sitting quietly in the background, watching what's going on, listening to what's being said. She comes to visit, to check on things, to let me know that she will always be with me, that she didn't leave so many years ago. She very rarely speaks other then with a small smile or a nod, perhaps a hand on my shoulder as she passes by. I treasure these times as they bring me comfort and a sense of closeness that I miss.
The other night, that was a different story. I could feel it coming like a freight train; you can feel them in your soul sometimes, long before you hear the deep whistle, the rumble of the engine and the squeal of the wheels on the tracks. I could sense her dying before my dad ever said the words, "We've been through this before." I felt my legs go out from under me and heard my desperate wail as I tried to wake myself up. no no no no no no no...I could NOT be going through it again! I watched as she collapsed into my dads arms in the kitchen that she spent so much of her life in and I cried out again. It took me several minutes to realized that I was lying in my bed in my still-dark bedroom and I wasn't watching my mom die. The scream that I didn't scream so many years ago was still in my throat. The scene replayed itself in my head over and over: she was in the kitchen in her funny little apron, along with Kyle, Taylor, myself and my dad as she was cooking dinner for us. Taylor had just shown her a picture she drew and squeezed her with her tiny little arms and said "I love you grandma." I knew it was a dream because none of that ever happened. But knowing that something is a dream, and shaking the feeling that the dream brings are two different things. This dream wasn't the quiet visit, the pleasant understanding that she is still with me, standing by me, watching over me. This was a bad dream. It was just a bad dream and I'm awake now. I'm awake. I'm supposed to feel better, right?