The Holy Child Of Atocha Lost My Grandmother

1190 words - 5 pages

Most people think their dreams are meaningless. They choose not to interpret their dreams in fear of realizing the true meaning behind it. I am certain that dreams do indeed carry significance behind them. I believe that dreams are a basis of communication between the past, present, and future. Precognition, which is the ability to see into the future, is relevant to a dream I had about my grandmother when I was twelve. I had my doubts at first about precognitions, until I personally had my own experience.
Two years before the dream, my grandmother suffered from a left hemisphere stroke. The stroke caused paralysis on the right side of her body and disabled her ability to speak properly. The communication I had once with grandmother was not the same after she was placed into a rehabilitation center. I was beginning to enter adolescence, which made me more aware of her situation, and seeing her suffer, was traumatic for me. Most of the time I made up excuses to avoid visiting her. It was not because I did not love my grandmother, but because seeing her so defenseless was devastating. I remember visiting her once, about a week before I had the dream.
I can recall the dream like it was yesterday, it is one of those dreams you cannot erase from your memory. The borders of my dream were out of focus, much like the quality of an old photograph. My head was light, and every time I moved my head, objects dimmed. I remember feeling like I weighed a ton, but regardless, walking was effortless and fast; I did not feel afraid or sad. My dream had no sound, it was silent, I did not hear any voices, the sound of dogs barking, nor the wind blowing. I was in my grandmothers’ kitchen, standing near her as she washed the dishes. I remember not being able to see her dark chocolate brown eyes, however, while washing the dishes her smile was cozy and solace. But strangely my grandmothers’ focus began to drift, as she stopped washing the dishes and began to look very calmly down, staring at the floor. I could sense my father and grandfathers’ presence very close to me in the same room. But I then decided to go outside, into the backyard onto a big concrete walkway that went past the old rusty aluminum garage.
On the right side of the walkway was a large tree full of thick thorns and full of big plump oranges that were particularly juicy when ripe. As I stood before the tree, I paused with happy thoughts, reminiscing my childhood memories when my grandmother would hand me a bucket to collect the ripe juicy oranges. As I walked further ahead, I moved towards another small tree that stood in front of a grey brick wall, holding an old bird house. The species of this tree I don’t know. While still staying on the walkway, I knew my father and grandfather had followed behind me the whole time. All together, we then stepped past the small tree and its old wooden bird house that hung from a branch. And a couple of feet away from the grey brick wall, the walkway finally...

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