I had a dream last night. I dreamed I was on a competition reality show where all the contestants dreamt. Mary Berry judged them on the value of their dreaming. You know—was it a fully baked dream? I got voted out because my dream just didn’t hold up. Probably needed a little more proofing. Or maybe more strawberry.
I wanted to tell you about this dream…because you’d laugh and you’d say something philosophical. I don’t know many people who can do both quite so easily, or with that same glint of humor and warmth.
My son.
My God, how I miss you.
Today, hon, was a very good day. An “I’ve waited my lifetime for this day” kind of day. My entire being has been quivering since the announcement with the energetic unraveling of a lifetime of angst and anger and hopes and fears, a lifetime of indignation and gritty determination to see it through. And while this day doesn’t heal all the wounds of the past or scale the mountain of inequities amassed over time, it does throw askew an oppressive cycle that’s been nurtured and protected for centuries.
And you, kid, are the one I want to talk with about it. Celebrate with. Because you get it. I know you get it. And you’d know without hesitation what this day means to me. Means for us all.
So, I’ll celebrate with others. With the sisterhood mainly. With those who welcome kindness and decency and honor and truth. And I’ll keep dreaming of a world that feels always like today, where hope and possibility bear out.
I’ll celebrate with you too—where you are, where I am. And I’ll keep dreaming of the day that I’ll look you in the eye, feel your embracing bear hug, and hear you say—with a glint of humor and warmth—“Mama, it’s not just a dream.”
