I had a dream about the daughter of my former colleague. Ruthie was the most compassionate and best-loved counselor I’ve ever known. She always made time for clients who needed her in spite of the mountains of paperwork piling up, in spite of the extra hours of overtime, in spite of commendations that we “worked tirelessly,” yet we got plenty tired.
My colleague came down with cancer while serving in the trenches, helping others fight the monster of addiction. For many months, she continued to work her heart out. But there came a time when the physical pain was too much. She put up a brave fight, but she had to go home. Ruthie died a couple of years ago.
Now, to the dream I had two weeks ago:
I was at a community event organized by Ruthie’s daughter, B. I saw my former colleague in the background, beaming her proud mama smile at her daughter from across the room. Later, I went up to B, gave her a big hug, and handed her a package of disposable razors.
After I woke up, I debated about whether I should tell B about the dream. I’ve run into her around town, and we are friends on Facebook. But why would I give her razors?
In spite of the weirdness, I sent B a Facebook message about the dream. She responded with excitement because she’s in the process of organizing a community event in memory of her mother. She said she knows her mother is happy. And she told me she keeps forgetting to buy razors.
I think I’m supposed to help B with this event. We’re planning to meet later today.
I can still see her mama’s big, beautiful smile.