My mother passed away on the first day of the second half of February this year.
The night before, sometime after ten, she and Dad walked toward their bedroom together. The sight of her walking away became the last image of her we would ever have. The next morning, when my brother went to wake her, she was already gone.
It was during the pandemic, and everything after her death had to be arranged quickly. I wasn’t able to go back and say goodbye to her.
After Mom passed away, I dreamed of her from time to time. I also honored her on the traditional days of remembrance. And so, carrying my longing for her with me, I have now been a child without a mother for more than five months.
Last night, I dreamed of Mom again.
In the dream, Mom was sitting in a wheelchair, and I was taking her out for a little outing.
It was a strange wheelchair. Although she was sitting in it, she had to keep both feet on the ground and move them as though she were walking, pushing the wheelchair slowly forward.
At first, Mom and I moved along slowly, talking as we went. But after a while, her legs stopped cooperating, and she could no longer go on.
So I decided to carry her.
She was so heavy.
I tried with all my strength, and finally, I lifted her into my arms.
Mom looked at me like a little baby, with a happy smile on her face. I was happy, too, because at last I could carry her—just as she had carried me when I was little.
Later, my brothers appeared, one after the other. My younger brother was in front. He asked me, “Why are you carrying Mom?”
“Mom’s legs aren’t strong enough,” I said.
After that, we all got on a train together.
It seemed we were going home.
When I woke up in the morning, scenes from the dream kept returning to me, and tears began to fall.
I wondered, why did I dream of Mom?
Perhaps it was because a few days earlier, some of my middle school classmates had gathered at the home of a close friend. After Mom passed away, this friend had reached out to comfort me. She also told me that her mother and mine were buried in the same cemetery.
Everyone had a wonderful time at the gathering, and afterward they sent me many beautiful photographs. Looking at those pictures made me think of my hometown. Seeing my friend made me think of our mothers, now resting in the same place.
And so, that night, I saw Mom.
The wheelchair in my dream was familiar to me, too.
Mom had very little strength in her legs. When I used to take walks with her, after only a short distance she would say, “Let’s go home. Mom can’t walk anymore.”
Sometimes I would put her in a wheelchair and take her outside for a little while.
When I went back last autumn, I often took Dad out as well. His legs hurt, so he also used a wheelchair. One day, while we were in a park, the electric wheelchair ran out of power, and I had no choice but to push Dad all the way home.
When we were almost there, my younger brother came out of a store carrying bags of groceries. When he saw us, he asked, “You pushed him all the way back? The battery died? You’re really something.”
Perhaps all these memories quietly found their way into my dream.
But the dream gave me something I had never been able to do in real life.
I lifted Mom into my arms.
She lay there like a child, smiling happily. And I held her, just as she had held me so many, many years ago, when I was little.
It has been more than five months, and I still haven’t been able to go back to see Mom. The hope of returning this year remains very slim.
I miss Mom so much.
I look forward to the day when I can finally go back and see her.
God bless.
