My mom was beautiful. Before we were in school, she would take me and my sister with her as she sold Avon products to the neighborhood women. We’d wait in the car while she made her sales. In the back seat with us were her product cases. I would twist open the little white tubes of lipstick samples: white, pink, orange, red, dark red. It didn’t occur to me until much later that Avon did not make make-up products at that time for Mom’s skin color.
This was a time in her life when she did what she had to do for her family’s well-being. Selling beauty products was just one of them. As a rep, she probably gave Avon undeserved credit for her looks. What her clients saw was the healthy face of a hardworking woman. A natural beauty.
In my dream, Mom was that young age again. I saw the warm, loving look that she reserved for her children in better times. She wore a glow that reminded me of moonlight. And she was gliding from room to room.
I was sitting on the floor in my home, which was in disarray. She gave direction to me and all was well again. It took no effort. She only had to linger over my possessions. They would quiver, rearrange, and then be in place. A pulsing, red brightness remained to show she had completed her task.
Mom smiled, never taking her gaze from me.
I loved her smile.
Suddenly, I was in a great city. I could not see the sky, and I was lost in the teem of people in the streets. Mom reappeared. She was not smiling. She rushed about as if in a hurry. I tried to find my way through the crowds to my brothers and sisters, who were ahead of me, scattering and running away. I reached up to the softness and felt a bit of the blue. She was gone, and I awoke.
I wonder about that dream.
(I had the dream and wrote this in November 2009, very close to the day that my mother had died ten years earlier. )