Zombie Love

Mom signed too!.jpg_face0 copyMy late mother liked to sing Vernon Dalhart’s The Prisoner’s SongShe especially liked the last two lines. Her version was:

If I had the wings of an angel,

over these prison walls I’d fly.

I’d spend one moment in the arms of my beloved,

and then I would gladly die.

On Shabbat morning, I dreamed:

I am alone in an entertainment complex, after hours. The movie theatre, climbing wall, and miniature golf are closed. I stand in front of an elevator at the side of the building. No one has briefed me, but I know that when the elevator opens, Mom will be inside. We will be allowed a short visit.

The elevator door opens and, sure enough, there stands Mom, looking elderly but robust and healthy, wearing a familiar blue print shirt. The only hint of anything unusual is a reddish-green glint in her eyes.

I rush in and throw my arms around her. As I do, I think that maybe I should not; if we expend too much energy, our visit will be shorter. 

Sure enough, Mom starts to weaken immediately. I help her out of the elevator, and sit on a chair that happens to be next to it. I cradle Mom on my lap.

I say, “If I had the wings of an angel.” 

Mom says, “And then I would gladly die.”

Her vitality spent, Mom closes her eyes.

  1. I often wonder if these are “dreams” or another level of reality that we are blessed to reach from time to time.

    1. Thanks all. Beverly, so very nice to hear from you. Thanks for this comforting message. Yes, I have no doubt that the unconscious (as depth psychologists call it) has access to other levels of reality.

  2. A wonderful dream. I wait for an elevator door to open in one of my dreams.

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