Last night I dreamed that the granddaughter of a friend died. The young lady had yet to reach her twentieth birthday. I went to what I suppose was her wake.
Not in a coffin, she was laid out atop a white sheet, on something like a stretcher. She wore pink pajamas, like the footed Carters that babies wear.
People were gathered in groups whispering, embracing each other, and crying; but no one was near the body of the deceased. I went over to her and noticed she stirred. I knew she was dead but I was not surprised when she opened her eyes and looked up at me, as I caressed her brow.
“You’re the calm one,” she smiled at me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I smiled back at her.
She closed her eyes and departed.
Upon waking I pondered this dream. The young lady appeared to have a normal-sized head, but much smaller body than she does in life and she was dressed in those pink Carter-like pajamas. What did that mean?
Perhaps, it signified that she was born-again?
I know that while I felt genuine love and closeness with this young lady, I did not mourn her passing. I experienced joy in my soul for her, even while feeling deep sympathy for her family and loved ones.