Dream of my Mother

Her face appeared to me in a dream. It was a ghostly face, eyes half-open and showing the whites of the eyes. Though I was not frightened, I was pained with compassion for her. We had wondered all along, during her coma, weather she was experiencing any pain or if it was indeed as the doctor would have us believe, “a walk on the beach” for her.

That dream, for me confirmed that she was in pain, unbearable pain. I first saw her in her face palor difficult to describe. It seemed to be a huge effort to barely open an eyelid only partially. Freeze frame and juxt-oppose an equally pale and suffering face. The head was tilted as if it were a load, much too heavy to carry. The face was that of Jesus Christ on the cross, he crown of thorns piercing his skin and leaving a trail of misery and torment.

There was a similarity in both of these faces. They were at the end of their lives and undergoing an enormous transition in their final days. They both lived a life of generosity and compassion towards their fellowman. The were both spent and both were being called home. Though in a different time and in a different body, they shared the bond of suffering.