Whoever scripted the dream I had last night was an unoriginal hack.

Frankly, I expect more of my dreams than a standard “visitation” from my recently deceased mother.
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I'm not a religious person. One could even say that I'm an atheist because I say it out loud, and with some regularity. Still, I did grow up veritably steeped in Western religious dogma and didactics. So when my deceased appeared to me in a dream last night, I wasn't surprised by its many cliché tropes and trite themes.

I have a dream. About my mom, I mean.

My , which are often set at the Playboy Mansion, feature a lot of metaphorical, and sometimes literal, foreplay. This dream, however, just kind of started: No John Williams' score, cool title sequences, or helpful Ron Howard narration. Instead, I just vaguely remember suddenly being in an terminal with my wife. Naturally, the setting was mostly white and clean, so I'm thinking Changi Airport in Singapore, but that's just a guess.

Photo of my mom, in her 20s, for reference.

We were sitting on padded, ottoman-like furniture in one of the airport's general seating areas, apparently waiting for this dream to get going. Then Mom, and a man who I took to be Dad, but who might've been “God”—you know, standard dream stuff—approached us from behind. I twisted my body around to see Mom walking up to us, smiling broadly.

She was dressed in all-white—of course—but not in flowing robes or a sparkly ball gown. No, Mom wore a long-sleeve shirt and sensible slacks, because…you know, it was Mom. She did have an otherworldly glow, however, but I wrote that off to the airport's blindingly bright metal-halide ceiling lights.

This is where things get weird.

Kristen Chenoweth (left) with Boban Marjanović (right).

Upon seeing my Mom for the first time since her passing, I blurted out, “Yikes!” Not because I was surprised to see her moving around. But because she was two-thirds her normal size! And I don't mean hunched over or anything. I mean, she was, at most, four feet tall and maybe 80lbs. She appeared to be the size of a 'tween child, an adult elf, or a full-size Kristin Chenoweth

I leaned in to hug her but, being twisted around, we kinda got out-of-alignment, and I nearly pushed her to the ground in the process. She seemed annoyed during this awkward physical interaction, but soon regained her balance, composure, and cheerful demeanor.

So I asked, “How are you?” to which she replied blissfully, “Woooonderful!” Her giddy response was effusive in a way that I'd never heard Mom sound, and it made me glad. Because, after the hard life she'd had growing up, and the needless suffering of her final decades, I was pleased to see she was finally and forever happy now.

All good things must come to an end.

Abruptly, I awakened to find my pillow bunched up in a way that had crimped my left vertebral artery and cut off blood to my brain for the past half hour. Relieved that I'd only experienced Cerebral Ischemia and not the more horrifying Angelic Visitation, I flipped over, bunching up the pillow on my right side, to see if my Grandpa would show up next.

 

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