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A mother's dream “Ah, but misery becomes you. You have lost years in the face.” What did she mean by that? I forgot what I had looked like, but her words made me take a look in the mirror. Quick inventory-- my face completely white, almost a light shade of blue grey: I am pale like my daughter, there are my eyes blue and wide, hers more almond then mine--thank goodness there are no deep cavities for large circles around her perfect eyes. To see my face was to compare every characteristic to hers, but when that fun faded-- I saw an asylum, imprisoning a free spirit longing to fly. Finally back at home, I laid down; she slept here, I thought, as I clutched the closest thing that she had touched. Deep inhale -- yes it still has her scent . . . Sleep, I must sleep: I might see her in my dreams. My now empty arms long to embrace her, the pain is too much, I have to sleep. I opened the bottle the doctor gave me and swallowed as much as I could get down. Maybe a prayer would help . . . Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to I was going up an eternal staircase made of stone. On each step were small puddles that I carefully tiptoed around, trying hard to keep my white silk slippers dry. The air was thick like steam and smelled like sulfur. I could see small white puffs as I exhaled with each step. It must be cold, I thought: why aren’t the puddles frozen? Carefully studying the ancient walls to the left and right of the staircase I noticed water slowly dripping and drizzling down. I could hear the drops as they fell into an unseen pool of water below. On these old walls were perfectly hung paintings that seemed unaffected by the strange atmosphere of the place. Each one was reminiscent of a poor wretched soul preparing for death. The subject of one painting surrounded by its gaudy golden frame was easily recognizable. It was Anne Boleyn practicing the placement of her head on a low table. I stared at the figure-- so beautiful and elegant. Then I whispered -- a sharp sword please-- no axeman for me. Make it quick, I beg of you- here is compensation in advance for your deed. --- Poor Anne, I thought. Fear started to overcome me. I decided I should turn back, but when I looked behind me where the stairs once stood there was now only a black abyss. No choice ... I must keep moving forward. I knew my prize was waiting. I must find her. Although I could not see her, I heard her soft noises echoing in my ears persuading me to make the ascent. I’ll be there soon, my love, very soon . . . Upon reaching the last step I looked back one final time. The deep abyss became a beautifully crafted marble floor comprised of rectangles each bearing chiseled names, and two dates. I had seen this all before. Where to go now? A great hallway filled with closed doors appeared before me. Like a soldier I marched rhythmically, now with a powerful step. Romantic light from candles on the walls between each doorway fluttered as I hurriedly passed. Under a single door shone beams of light flooding from the crack between the door and the marble floor pouring into the hallway. This must be where she is, I thought, as I ran to the door, bursting into the room quickly. In this room were all of the things I loved as a child: my precious teddy bears, dolls, cute little puppies—the same as I remembered them from years ago. I was tempted to stay, but all seemed peaceful, no need to indulge in these forgotten pleasures. I took one last look, smiled, closed the door and began to walk again along the hall. I passed a golden clock whose face was too high to see. The pendulum started swinging making me aware of every second that passed. Another light led me to another door’s entrance...but now my heart beat quickened. Was time running out? I rushed in to this next lit room. I opened the door. This room was warm with a lively fire, violins playing and people dancing. The shadows of the room’s occupants animated the walls and ceiling with long black figures keeping every corner and crevice full of movement. This jovial group consisted of all of the people I had loved. No one noticed when I entered the room, although I walked gleefully through the center. I was content to see that all were well, but knowing as I always had--I didn’t belong there . . . I closed the door. In search for the light yet again . . . I started to hear sweet coos and playful noises of my sweet treasure. Picking up the pace again the second hand of the clock became so loud it sounded like short blasts of a trumpet, forcing me to raise both hands up to my aching ears. I was running to yet another door which had the light underneath, instead of being to the left or right as was the case with the two doors prior, this old wooden door was waiting directly in front of me. At last she will be here. As I drew near, the second hand suddenly stopped. I smelled the sweet scents of lilac and lavender. She must be close now. This large wooden door opened slowly before me. It unveiled a beautiful place full of thick foliage and singing birds. I happily threw off my slippers, permitting my feet to enjoy the turf’s soft coolness. I ventured deeper into the room -- suddenly a flood of butterflies floating on a warm breeze surrounded me. This place put me at ease. Like the marble floor—I had seen this before. Close by was the tree I first saw at the cemetery not long ago. Under its canopy of leaves and sweat smelling blossoms was the most elegant bed -- beautifully decorated with white satin and soft pillows. Stepping closer I saw my sweet child, dressed in white silk, with white ribbons and cap. She was holding a crucifix in one hand. She looked at me with love in her eyes while she now comforted me. She was perfect -- she had not aged in these five years. While smiling suddenly her little hand clutching the crucifix now held something else. Slowly she exposed -- a little white butterfly that softly fluttered away. With tears of joy I kissed her plump rosy cheek and held out a finger to her hand. Slowly and gently she wrapped her little fingers around it . . . Now finally, I can sleep. Whispering softly one last time--- Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake I pray the lord my soul to take. I closed my eyes and thought--- in the end—all is right. Stacey Nebel, 35 years old, now lives in Shelby Twp. Michigan and is happily married to Ed who has always been supportive of any artistic endeavors right down to squeaky violin lessons (that’s love). On May 11, 2001, Stacey gave birth to their darling Bergie, who has been an inspiration in all things that involve the heart.
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