The night after blogging about my mother, I dreamed about her.
She was in the hospital in her last days. I fed her ice cream, as I did then, and talked to her and held her.
Then, I talked to Bern's mother about it, in my dream.
Not sure that really happened.
Dreams are amazing.
A vision of your soul.
Mothers are, for the most part, unless abusive, dreams and visions.
I've been thinking about my mother, Cleo, and Bern's mother, Emma.
I prayed for them today at the Eucharist during the prayers of the people, when folks are invited to pray for those who have died.
I have no idea what my prayer did.
But I hope against hope Cleo and Emma knew of it.
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