Mom Vacation Dream

 

I dreamed I was on vacation with my my mom, Greg and the kids. They were still teenagers, and the car was an older Odyssey minivan with transmission issues. At one point we were all waiting out a windshield replacement and needed to hitch a ride with Javier Martinez. He had an electrician's truck with lots of electrical conduit and wires in the back. I guess he said he was a cable guy, but it was just him being self-deprecative; he was actually somewhat of an electrical engineer, and the cables were fiber optic.

The windshield replacement only took two seconds, but the transmission issues threatened to keep us grounded for a couple of days in some armpit type of town, reminiscent of Gilroy or Bakersfield in the '70s. While we waited on the verdict, sitting on a bench in the heat, my mom looked at me, and we had a moment.

 “Promise me one thing,” she told me, “That you will always remember this day and how we are right now.”

 “I will,” I told her, laying my head against her chest, “You know I love you, right? I love you, Mom.”

This seemed to be the whole point of the dream, and she hugged me back, satisfied that I’d gotten the message. I knew she was referring to the fact that she was getting older, and her walking disability more severe. Possibly soon there would be no more vacations, and she wanted me to remember her like this, not as she might become, old and infirm.

We got back underway, but it was tenuous. Greg said something to the effect that second gear seemed to be acting up, and he hoped it would get us home. That’s about all I can glean at the moment. Now I have to pack up my room and get on the road back to Northern California. Vacation is officially over.