Dreamy

I had a dream the other night. It was one of those dreams that felt so real. One of those dreams you think about for days and wonder if it was a dream, a memory or a premonition?

In this dream, I was out of town, visiting a friend. I don’t recall the travelling to get there or meeting up. We were in a grand old cemetery. It was lush and green. There were many roads and rolling hills. There were several large statues and lovely moss covered mausoleums.  It was a beautiful day, warm, full of sunshine, trees blooming, a lovely late spring day. I think we have had our bikes. We were making small talk and sharing comments about the various stones while we were both taking photos. Then I noticed her.

An older woman was on her knees near a grave. I couldn’t see her face. She was kneeling at the grave, dressed in dark traditional mourning clothes.  She was crying, rocking back and forth on her knees, occasionally pulling at the grass. We both froze. I had often imagined conversations with someone visiting a loved one when I am ‘trespassing’ taking photographs and taking in the weather. I had always imagined I would talk to them. So I walked over to her.

I lightly touched her shoulder and quietly said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

Without looking up, she put her hand on my hand and sobbed loudly. “He’s gone. I’m alone. I miss him so much.” Then she shouted, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You shouldn’t have left me.”  I joined her on the grass, sitting very close to her. She leaned into me, a total stranger, so desperate for comfort. I glanced at the stone, the date was recent. I looked down at the ground around us and realized the grass had been patched in. I couldn’t see her face. She was wearing a hat with a veil over her face. I could see she had shoulder length hair, softly curled under at the shoulder. Her hair was colored to a honey tone but the silver streaks were still quite visible.

I quietly asked her what her name was. It was Mary Louise. I told her my name was Diane Louise. She smiled, weakly. I asked her. “Is this your husband?” “Yes,” she said, she sat up a little straighter when she said, “57 years, for 57 years, I was his wife.” I asked her if he called her Louise. She looked straight at me. I saw how red her eyes were from the crying. Her pain was so raw. “How did you know that?” I smiled, “My brother-in-law has called me Louise since I was a young girl. Just a pet name he gave me.” She said, “Sometimes he just called me Weezie.”  She smiled, touched the gravestone and I saw the tears start down her face again. She whispered, “He’s gone, forever.”

I asked her to tell me about him. Without hesitation she started listing random facts about him. I slipped my blue notebook out of my bag and started writing down everything she was saying. “He was always whistling and if he wasn’t whistling he was singing.” She smiled. “He used to sing all the time, not entire songs, just choruses or lines from a song. They always made me laugh.” She smiled, “Sometimes he would change the lyrics to something, um, inappropriate, but only when we were at home or alone in the car.” She touched her fingers to her lips and laughed a small laugh, for only a moment, as the memory washed over her. She went on to tell me that he worked in a plant for 40 years, never missing a day of work for being sick or because of bad weather but he was by her side for each one of their children’s birth. She told me what a wonderful dad he was. He built the children a tree fort, made their lemonade stand, saw all their school plays and helped them with science projects. She kept talking and I kept filling up my pages. She told me that she had been a young bride and so was very frightened when he went to fight the War. He was missing for a few months, but they located him with a few members of his platoon, on an island. He never spoke much about what happened to him there. He loved to dance. “And he was a real good dancer. All the girls wanted to be his partner but I got him!” She smiled again. I have no idea how long we were there but the stories of her husband just poured out of her. She had stopped crying a while ago. Finally she looked at me and asked me, “What are you writing in your book?” I told her, I was writing everything she said because now Thomas would be a memory for me too.

I asked her if her children lived nearby and if she had any grandchildren. She nodded. I put my hand on her arm again, “You need to tell them all these stories about Thomas. You can keep him alive and remember him by telling his stories over and over.” She nodded again. I could tell she was exhausted. I didn’t see a car. “How did you get her Louise?” “Oh,” she said, “I took the bus a few days ago.” My heart ached for her. “Louise, is there anyone I can call for you?” She took a breath, nodded, and said, “I think my daughter might be wondering where I am.” I called her daughter and found out that Louise had been missing for three days. Thomas had only died a week earlier. As we waited for her daughter, I asked her if I could take her picture. She started fussing with her hair, “Oh, I must be a fright.” I told her I thought she was beautiful and I wanted to remember her. My friend, who had stayed just off from us, but within earshot, came over and asked to take a picture of both of us. I put my arm around her and she took my other hand in hers, leaning her head on mine.

The minivan finally pulled up. Her daughter rushed up to us, grabbed her mother in a hug and held her tight. “Mom, you scared us to death! Please don’t do that again, promise me, please, I can’t lose you too.” Louise introduced us and her daughter gave me the same hug she gave her mom and thanked me for calling. I helped her get Louise to the car. I leaned into the open window and hugged her again. “Are you going to be alright now?” She nodded, “I think so.” I held up my blue notebook, “As long as you share him, he will live on. He’s a part of my life now and so are you.” She kissed my hand and put it up to her cheek.” Soon the car was out of sight. 

I turned to my friend. “Wow” he said, “Just wow!” He told me that he had taken a few photographs of us while Louise and I sat talking together. He and I sat down by a large oak tree and he handed me the camera so we could both flip through the images. She looked so sweet but frail in the first few photos but the more she talked about Thomas, the more her color seemed to return, she even looked stronger.  I paused for a moment and looked up. My friend asked, “What, what is it?” “Oh, nothing” I said. 

It was obvious he couldn't hear it and I couldn't tell him but I was sure I could hear someone whistling. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onH-WTVQGsg&list=AL94UKMTqg-9B23vsJpbYCct5FRDXj7iNk&feature=c4-overview-vl