by - December 29, 2009

The moon was so bright last night.  Lying in bed, unable to sleep, I had to get up and see for myself that the lustrous bands of light falling across the bed were really from the moon and not from those odd spotlights you see floating around the sky sometimes, always late at night.  When I was young I used to think that the spotlights were angels, watching over me while I slept, forever zig-zagging across the sky.

After watching the moon for a few minutes, I needed to go downstairs for some medicine.  I had been coughing all night and Dave kept tossing and turning, still sleeping but hearing my coughs from a distance, in his dreams.  I felt bad.  I walked down the stairs in the dark; the moonlight did not penetrate through the windows here, and I was left only with my knowledge of where things are. Something I could do in my sleep.

Walking along towards the kitchen, slowly, my eyes have not yet adjusted to the dark.  And it's this slow shuffle through the shadows that brings up a thought, the same one, always.  Will I see my ancestors tonight?  Ever since I was a little kid I would dream that this is how it would happen, I would be walking through my house in the dark and I would see them.  Past generations of the strong women in my family, standing illuminated in the dark, looking at me.  What would they think?  Would they be proud of me?  I can only hope to be as strong as they were, and I try to draw from that strength every day, for every situation in my life.  A lot of the times I fail, or it comes out wrong and I sound too fiery, but this is what I am trying to portray.  And even though I know I have no reason to be visited upon by these unforgotten women, I cannot help but wish for them to come to me in my dreams, and tell me about their lives.

I am nearing the kitchen, thinking strange thoughts of ethereal beings.  I see a dark shape in the corner and my heart races.  I lunge for the light switch and flip it to 'On'.  Phew.  Just a cat stalking something by the rads.  So much for the strength of grandmothers, when I am afraid of the cat.

I take my medicine and turn to walk the same shuffle step through the dark.  Only now the call of my bed is a loud foghorn sounding in the night.  My shuffle turns into a sprint and I don't take the time to notice how the shadows fall on the walls, paying little attention to the cat chasing my heels.  I have more important things on my mind, like the devil at my back enticing me to just try and outrun him up the stairs.

I beat him and climb into bed.  I am safe, with my love beside me and the moonlight falling across the bed, nothing can touch me here.

I fall asleep, but do not dream of the women I love so much, and miss more than anyone.

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